


A Love Transcendent

by SpicyChestnut



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Eventual Romance, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Ghostly Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Link is a pushover, Link is so in love, Loneliness, Masturbation, Pining, Pining dreams, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Spirit!Link, Zelda is clever, Zelda under quarantine, Zelda unlocks her powers, Zelda's Mother Lives, connection, just incredible amounts of pining, of a sort, or more like "didnt-make-the-cut-for-the-friendzone"-zoned, sexy dreams, tags to be updated, the court bard gets friendzoned, the poor sap, these poor souls, zelda is so in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut
Summary: He doesn’t know why he is here, or how—but he knows he must protect her. She doesn’t know how he is here, or why—but she knows she can’t fight fight alone. Destiny is a funny thing; even when you know twists and turns lie ahead, it still finds a way to leave you unprepared for what it has in store. / Spirit!Link AU.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 158
Kudos: 245





	1. Prologue - Zelda

**Author's Note:**

> I adore fall and Halloween, and I've been wanting to do a fic for October/Linktober for years now, and have never gotten organized enough to do it. Now, stuck at home with nothing but time on my hands, I finally managed to pull it off! It's not quite Linktober, since I'm not following the prompts, just doing a vaguely Halloween-themed fic for October. This story was loosely inspired by the Spirit!Link sketches of @St-Hedge on Tumblr, and I strongly encourage you to check them out!
> 
> The chapters will each be pretty short, around 1,000 words-I wanted to keep the fic fairly short on the whole since I'm still working on LIATOC and Flowers in Bloom-but they will be coming out once a day, one each for every day in October! I hope you all enjoy, and don't forget to let me know what you think in the comments!

I was but a child of ten when the prophecy was made and the course of my life forever changed.

Mother had only just begun my training, but in light of such a threat the rest of my education was temporarily pushed aside. All of my time and effort was dedicated instead to the task of unlocking the ancient sealing power which ran, dormant, in the blood of all women of the royal line, awaiting a time when it would be needed. With such dedicated focus my powers began to stir and the voices of the spirit realm became known to me within a year. The year after that, I learned to access my sealing ability, and by fourteen I had mastered the sum of my powers—anointing myself in the Temple of Time to mark the completion of my training.

Yet despite the tender age at which I was prepared to defeat the Great Calamity, it brought no peace to my Kingdom, nor to the minds of Mother and Father; for we had not found the Hylian Champion—the chosen master of the Sword that Seals the Darkness.

Both the prophecy and the ancient texts which chronicled the Great Calamity ten thousand years ago spoke of a hero who wielded the sword—a powerful warrior who was the reincarnation of the very champion chosen by the Goddess Hylia herself eons ago upon the birth of Hyrule. He was supposed to be a warrior without equal, and whose courage was unmatched. During my training with Mother, Father sent scouts throughout the land, gathering every swordsman of note; but none could pull the sword from its sacred grove, and many were gravely injured simply by trying. As word of this spread, fewer were willing to take the chance; and by the time my training ended there were no more warriors willing to touch the blade.

With little other option our efforts turned instead toward excavating the Divine Beasts and returning them to functionality with all due haste, as the prophecy directed us to. It was upon my fifteenth birthday that I was at long last permitted to devote myself to the research and study I had yearned to do during the long years of my training—yearnings which I had been forced to suppress. After celebrations within the castle ended, I joined a caravan of Sheikah researchers and began my travels through the Kingdom.

Despite the anxiety which persisted at our missing Champion, those years were some of the fondest of my adolescence. It was a joy to dig into ordinary earth and uncover extraordinary treasures of a long-forgotten past; to discern the workings of ancient technologies through sheer willpower, dedication, and experimentation. Father always said I was a scholar at heart, and it was a delight to indulge those interests in a way that not only brought me joy, but would benefit my Kingdom as well.

But as with many things in my life it was not to last, and my time out in the field was cut short as signs of the Calamity grew ever more numerous. The Yiga, long a mere nuisance, were now growing, both in number and in the audacity of their defiance. Attacks increased and became far more violent. Monsters too began to appear with greater frequency—first in the wilds, then ever closer to settlements throughout the Kingdom.

It was then, when I was seventeen, that Father recalled me to the castle.

“It is time for you to choose your Champions”, he declared from his seat upon the throne. “Any further work that must be done on the Divine Beasts can be done as you train each of their pilots; and any further research on the Guardians can be done here at the castle.”

Soon after, I sent my royal missives to the four races. It did not take long to decide; there were but a few truly exceptional warriors from each race, and fewer whose hearts held the resolve needed for this task. After the requisite amount of time had passed I traveled to Zora’s Domain, where Mipha accepted the role with quiet grace. I then traveled to Rito Village, where Revali accepted his role with a not wholly unexpected brash overconfidence. I traveled to Death Mountain, where Daruk accepted his role with optimistic enthusiasm. And lastly, I traveled to Gerudo Town, where Urbosa accepted hers with solemn dedication. In but a matter of months I had my four champions, and thus began the process of helping each to master their Divine Beast.

Once more I was traveling the Kingdom, but unlike before there was a quiet urgency weighing on my shoulders. Mipha mastered her beast quickly—much quicker than the others. Urbosa was not far behind Mipha, though Revali and Daruk struggled. I made many trips to Rito Village and Death Mountain, and though Daruk was always a delight to see I found my patience running thin with Revali on frequent occasion. By the time my eighteenth birthday neared each champion had attained a basic mastery of their respective beast’s essential functions, and the Sheikah researchers were making good progress with the Guardians discovered beneath the castle. All was going better than expected, and briefly I allowed myself to feel hopeful. Perhaps we could make it without a Hylian Champion, after all.

But as with many things in my life, it could never be so simple.

As I finished a visit with Mipha—one that was likely to be her last given the speed at which she was adapting to her Divine Beast, I began my journey back to the castle along the winding road out of Zora’s Domain. It was there, alongside the Zora river, that everything changed—and my life would never be the same.


	2. Prologue - Link

When I opened my eyes, I was on a crest high above a plateau overlooking a sprawling Kingdom, the pommel of a sword heavy in my grip. I did not know how I came to be there, nor why, but I knew one thing without any doubt: an ancient evil was stirring, threatening to break free. I knew it like I knew my own breath—could feel its evil writhing as though it were seared upon my very skin. I could not tell how long it would be before this evil broke through the veil between worlds; but it had awoken, and I knew it would use any and every opportunity to advance its progress into the realm.

With this knowledge came a tugging sensation at the back of my mind. It was familiar, and strangely insistent. It urged me onward, down the slope, toward… something. I glanced out across the plateau, searching—and there, along the road: a caravan heading for the Temple of Time. I did not know how I knew the great stone structure’s name, but I knew it—just as I knew I must head toward the ornate carriage at the caravan’s center, and the strange disturbance in the air which trailed in its wake.

I sheathed the sword on my back and floated down from my perch, toward the Temple of Time—the caravan’s destination. Only briefly did the thought cross my mind that such a feat should not be possible.

The source of the disturbance, it turned out, was a young woman: the Princess, if the diadem atop her head and the deference of the clerics was any indication. She stood between the King and Queen at the entrance of the temple, possessing all the regal posture of her station. She looked to still be growing into adulthood—perhaps fourteen or so. The roundness of her face was only just giving way to sharper features, and she looked to have recently grown into her height.

She entered the temple with her parents to pray, heading to the towering statue of the Goddess at the far end. I followed her curiously, something within me I did not understand urging me onward. She knelt piously before the statue, still and silent in her prayer. I took a moment to observe her more closely.

Her hair was like spun gold, cascading just past her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes were a startling green, bright and rich like the lush grasses of spring. She was dressed in the blue and gold silks of the Royal family, the sleeves of her gown pooling on the floor where she knelt. Though I felt certain I’d never seen her before, she seemed… somehow familiar…

When she finished her devotions her mother glanced around curiously, staring in my direction with a trace of confusion in her eyes before shaking her head and turning to the Princess, setting a hand gently upon her shoulder.

“Congratulations, Zelda. May the Goddess bless your journey.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Her voice was soft; gentle but determined—and far too old for one so young. The royal family stood and retreated the way they had entered, none seeming to notice or be disturbed by my presence; but I was too struck to move, let alone follow. Her name rang like a gong in my mind, stirring something ancient and urgent deep within my soul.

Zelda… _Zelda_ … All at once I understood. I knew why I was here—my purpose, my role. I knew what had drawn me to her from the hillside. She was not merely the Princess, she was my charge—and I her Champion. In her veins ran the blood of the Goddess, and the sacred sealing power to banish the great evil which had stirred me from my sleep. It was my sworn duty to protect her—and to fight by her side when the time came.

I did not know how I had ended up on that ledge, nor did I recognize my surroundings, familiar though they seemed; but I knew my duty, now—as intrinsic a part of me as my own soul—and I knew why I had been summoned to this place at this time: I was to meet _her_. Without thought or question I turned and jogged down the aisle to catch up to her retreating form, following in her shadow as she departed the temple.

It was over the next several months that I bean to understand my nature: why I could not be seen by others, why I did not hunger or sleep—why I could not touch. I was a spirit—a soul without a body, duty bound to my charge in spite of my corporeal fate. As the years passed I never strayed from the Princess’s side. I traveled with her across the Kingdom as she studied the Divine Beasts, I stood guard over her tent at excavation sites and watched as she puzzled through the mysteries of the ancient Sheikah tech, a furrow to her brow and her tongue between her teeth. I learned from listening that the great evil I could feel stirring in the winds had a name: Calamity Ganon.

I also learned of the missing Champion.

Missing in their eyes, I suppose; for I was ever present, guarding the Princess wherever in the kingdom she roamed, ever ready for the great beast’s return. I saw no need to reveal myself—I served her best unseen, and I had grown accustomed to my solitude. Should an enemy slip past her guard, they would surely not expect to be struck down by a vengeful spirit who manifested instantly at her side. Besides which, I very much doubted many would trust the sworn benevolence of a ghost.

Over four years I watched her work and pray and study, blossoming into a beautiful young woman. She was intelligent beyond her years, compassionate with every ounce of her heart, and endlessly curious. It was she who truly returned the Divine Beasts to working order, and her research which led to breakthrough after breakthrough with the Guardians. And once she was ordered to begin selecting her pilots for the Divine Beasts, I watched her become a leader as well. She guided each Champion with patience and grace, even the cock-sure Rito who treated her with such disdain. There were few times over those years I debated revealing myself, but always in his company the urge tugged at me. But I kept myself hidden, ever watchful but invisible. After all, I served her best unseen.

Until the day I didn’t.


	3. Zelda I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic depictions of violence.

The day was warm and bright—a rarity for the rain-prone climate of Lanayru, particularly this time of year. I had departed Zora’s Domain that morning, and by early afternoon I and my retinue were passing through the small stretch of forest beyond the Bank of Wishes. I was foolishly absorbed in the skitter of nearby wildlife when it happened, my two guards noticing long before I did.

“Get back, Princess!”

My head jerked up in alarm, only to find a Yiga crouched in the road before me, sickle in hand and head cocked at a leering angle. I had barely registered its presence before it darted toward me. My guards leapt from their mounts and stood between me and the assassin, blades and shields drawn. My heart pounded a drumbeat in my chest and for several immeasurable moments I felt frozen in my saddle. The Yiga had never made such a bold attempt before; they disrupted caravans, killed livestock, thieved and marauded. But they had been growing bolder for some time, their efforts to pave the way for the Calamity becoming ever more daring.

I watched with horrified eyes as the sickle found a weak spot in one of my guards’ armor, sliding between metal plates and sinking into his flesh, the sickening gurgle of blood overtaking my mind as he fell to the ground in a pool of red dirt. My other guard only just had time to react, moving to cover the opening between me and the assassin before blocking a wild attack with his shield.

“Flee, Princess! Back to the domain!”

I did not need telling twice. I shakily jerked my reins and dug my heels into my steed’s sides far too harshly, sending it galloping back the way I had come. The urge to look behind me was strong but I could not afford distraction. Instead I forced my attention to the road, breathing hard and praying for Mikael’s survival. My reigns bit into my palms so tight was my hold, and my vision narrowed and blurred with tears as I desperately navigated the winding path. But I hardly made it past the Bank of Wishes before the Yiga caught up with me.

They appeared suddenly on the road before me in a puff of smoke, hovering briefly in the air as they aimed a bow in my direction. My heart leapt and I pulled sharply on the reigns, causing my steed to whinny in complaint as it pulled to a sudden stop; and good that I did—the arrow sunk into the flank of my horse instead of my chest. Flint let out a high pained whine as he reared onto his hind legs, sending me sprawling to the ground. I fell with a thump, winded—too winded, and too disoriented to move with the speed needed to avoid the Yiga’s blood-slicked sickle as they reared back their arm, aiming for my head. I saw it happen in slow motion: the pleased cock of the Yiga’s head, the slow downward swing. I shut my eyes, raising an arm before my face and sent one last prayer to the Goddess; but the strike never came.

Instead, I heard the ringing of steel on steel, and the shuffle of footsteps in the dirt.

I glanced up to see the most unexpected sight: a man stood over me, between the Yiga and my prone form, a glinting short sword in hand which kept the sickle at bay. His scruffy blond hair obscured most of his features, but I could see his mouth set in a grim line. With a shout he pushed the stunned Yiga back and the red-clad soldier stumbled. My strange savior pressed his advantage. With a single deft movement he spun and the sword sliced across the Yiga’s stomach, the slide of metal on flesh smooth and unnatural. When he removed the blade it dripped with blood, but paid it no mind. The Yiga coughed and stumbled back; and in a flash of smoke they were gone—retreating to tend to their wound and fight another day.

The moment hung suspended like a dust mote in the light—the air still, the road empty save for my savior and I, and the splatter of red clumping the dirt of the road.

After a breath he turned to me, and I finally got a good look at his face. His eyes were the most striking shade of blue, gazing down at me as they roved critically over my prone form. In my fear and shock my mind was slow to process what I saw before me, but as my gaze swept over him a second time I realized there was something not quite right… An ethereal green glow hung about him—a blue-green haze, darkening down his legs and making him stand out against the landscape. Will ‘O Wisps hovered about his feet, pale and translucent though they were in the bright sunlight.

Who was this man? _What_ was this man? Where had he even come from? Why had he saved me? I opened her mouth to ask, but before I could get a single word out, he smiled—just a slight tilt of his lips; and then he vanished, fading like a mirage in the open air, and I was left wondering if he’d ever truly been there at all.

By the time I reached Zora’s Domain it was nightfall. I’d had to make the journey on foot given the wound to flint’s flank and the slaying of my guards. I had briefly hoped Mikael might have survived, but when I returned to the site of the ambush both lay unmoving upon the ground, their horses slain beside them. As I came into view of the Zora guardsman stationed at Luto’s Crossing they rushed to me, limping unsteadily as I was toward the safety of the Domain. I let myself be led away, too weary and overwrought to object to their fussing. They whisked me off to the Inn and surrounded the building with guards. Princess Mipha herself attended me as scouts were sent out to retrieve my men and search the woods for any additional threats.

The Zora Princess was gentle and tender, sitting beside a small fire with me in the Seabed Inn with a mug of steaming fleet lotus tea. As the sun set and the luminous stone of the Domain began to glow its ethereal blue, I couldn’t help but confide in her about the strange man who had been my rescuer.

“He appeared as if from nowhere and slew the Yiga in a single strike. And then he simply… disappeared, like fog dissipating in the sunlight.”

“You’re sure?” Mipha pressed gently. I nodded unsteadily down at my mug.

“Yes—I know what I saw, and yet I do not understand it. I owe him my life… and I cannot even be sure he is real.”

As the hours ticked on past sunset Mipha bid me goodnight and moved to stand guard outside the Inn. I fell into a fitful sleep. The blood of my guards and the piercing gaze of my impossible savior kept my mind turning long into the night.


	4. Link I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic depictions of violence.

  
I saw the assassin before her guards did, hiding high in the branches of a tree. It was likely this carelessness which allowed the fiend to gain the advantage.

Of the reasons I was reticent to reveal myself, one was this: I could not allow the Princess or her retinue to grow careless with the knowledge that an invisible savior stood ever at the ready to clean up any messes they allowed to slip past their watch. I was many things, but I was not infallible. But with how quickly the Yiga slew her first guard and locked the second in combat, I realized perhaps they had grown careless on their own.

I kept to her side as she fled on her horse, hoping that her remaining guard could handle a single Yiga on his own; but it was not to be. As we rounded a bend the Yiga appeared up the road, bow in hand and arrow ready. It sunk into her horse’s flank, sending her toppling to the ground, and I moved to stand before her, waiting.

I was about to break my unseen vigil—four years silent watch by her side, for I could not fight without manifesting my form. I only hoped the care and caution of the Royal Guard would not change by my revealing myself.

The Yiga raised their sickle to strike and I let my essence rapidly consolidate into form, the master sword stopping their downward swing with a clang. I had the advantage—the Yiga’s posture indicated their stunned surprise, and I pressed forward, knowing it would be an easy fight. With a single fluid movement I broke the Yiga’s stance, their weapon falling to the side as I turned and swung my blade across their body. They crumpled to the ground with a choked sound, quickly fleeing in a puff of smoke. Cowards, all of them. I took brief survey of the environment—there were no others hiding in the tress, thankfully—and turned to my charge.

She was sprawled upon the ground, eyes wide and fearful. For the first time I felt a flicker of resentment at my condition, for the instinct to to extend a hand and help her up was strong—and not possible for one such as me. Instead I let my gaze sweep over her briefly, scanning for injuries. I was relieved to see her unharmed.

But as my eyes rose to hers—a familiar action I had repeated over years whenever I wished to gain some insight into her state of mind, I felt my heart stutter and skip. Unlike the many times before when I had gazed thoughtfully into those orbs of green, this time her eyes held mine in return. She saw me—did not see through me or past me, but _at_ me. It was… curious; utterly foreign, a little frightening, and yet… strangely welcome. Like an unexpected homecoming—an embrace by a loved one after too long apart. Her brows furrowed, gaze growing analytic with a familiar curiosity despite her shock, and I felt a smile tug at my lips.

I knew I was staying longer than I should—I had learned what I must: the woods were clear and she was unharmed—but I found myself strangely drawn to the sensation of being seen. It was a very different thing to be the subject of such vibrant eyes—wide and curious and _wondering_. I felt like one of the Divine Beasts before her gaze, a magnificent puzzle she was trying so desperately to solve. But as the seconds dragged on I knew I could stay no longer—my time was at an end. Just as her lips parted to speak, without a word I let my essence dissolve and became invisible to her eyes once more.

A ghost which followed silently in her shadow.

I trailed close behind her as she returned to the Domain, my heart aching for the exhausted weariness which beset her shoulders. I felt some measure of relief when the Zora guards spotted her, whisking her away to the safety of the Domain’s interior. I knew she would be safe in the Zora Princess’ company and so I allowed her distance for a short while, and escorted the Zora guards through the woods, searching for any sign of further threat. Thankfully none were to be found, and I floated hurriedly upriver to return to her side.

I found her sitting with the Zora Princess at the Inn, cradling a mug of tea. She stared into the infused water as though it were imparting a particularly tricky riddle, her lower lip between her teeth.

“He appeared as if from nowhere and slew the Yiga in a single strike. And then he simply… disappeared, like fog dissipating in the sunlight,” she said quietly, brows furrowing further.

“You’re sure?” the Zora Princess inquired softly.

“Yes—I know what I saw, and yet I do not understand it. I owe him my life… and I cannot even be sure he is real.”

I hovered beside the fire, uncertain. It felt unnerving to be spoken of publicly—and with such consternation no less. Four years I had gone unknown and unseen; though I suppose it was always only a matter of time before something like this happened. I should, perhaps, have better prepared myself.

It took a moment for her words to settle in my mind, but once they did a strange tangle of emotion overtook me: regret; sorrow; _longing_. I had never before wanted her to know of my existence, never once wished she would acknowledge me. I had always been content in my duty and in my solitude. But now that she had seen me… now that I knew she _wanted_ to acknowledge me—even felt gratitude for my actions…

For but a moment, the thought of being seen—being _known_ by her, felt as urgent a need trembling within me as the need of the living to breath.

I shook my head. I well knew such a thing was far out of reach, and needless given the requirements of my duty—regardless of how that stubborn part of me wished otherwise. Foolish were such desires in the hearts of the dead, and lead to no place but trouble.


	5. Zelda II

Few would recognize the signs—Mother was a quintessential monarch, Father always said—but she was in a state upon my return. Though my retinue had been more than doubled for the journey: four able bodied Zora guards, and two accompanying swimmers hidden in the river; and though there had thankfully been no incidents to merit their action, it seemed not to have eased her. She held me close, two tiny figures beneath the throne room’s soaring ceiling, her palpable worry and growing relief filling its echoing space. Her fingers dug into my traveling cloak, and despite myself I felt my eyes sting as I wrapped my arms tightly about her waist in return.

Father saw my retinue doubled for trips within the bustling heart of Central Hyrule, and tripled for journeys abroad. Though I argued that such a thing wasn’t necessary—after all, many out in rural areas could make far better use of our soldiers’ time battling the rising monster threat—he would not hear of it. I suppose my objection was halfhearted anyway; though I would not dare admit it to anyone, least of all my father, the attack had rattled me.

My next journey was not scheduled for some weeks—I was to see Urbosa and Vah Nabooris next—and so I made use of my time at the castle while I had it. I had several theories about the strange apparition which had saved me, and I sought to procure some evidence or clues in the historical texts which may lend credence to one of them. I spent hours scouring book after book in the castle library stacks, even neglecting my research of the guardians in favor of finding answers. To my disappointment a definitive explanation eluded me.

I could find no reference to any ghostly apparitions which protected members of the royal family, nor evidence of a Hylian champion that was anything other than flesh and blood. The few references I found to spirits and ghosts made them out to be evil or otherwise malevolent. That simply could not be so with my savior—he had protected me of his own free will when I was in greatest need of protection, and his eyes had been nothing but kind. Surely he was not some vicious poe?

Perhaps it was instead some form of magic, not unlike the Jutsu wielded by the Sheikah and their corrupted counterparts, the Yiga. I looked, searching mythologies and legends, even the ancient histories… but aside from numerous mentions of the ancient sealing power of the Princess of Destiny, tales of forest children, and myths of magic masks, I could find nothing that might explain it.

As the weeks flew past me and my journey into the desert neared, I begrudgingly set my search aside. I still had a duty to Hyrule that demanded my attention more than my own self-serving curiosities. On the morning of my departure I turned my focus to Nabooris. In advance of my journey Urbosa wrote me of the struggles she was having with the beast: difficulty controlling its electrical field, and the efficacy of short-range attacks. In my return letters I had agreed to help her run tests on Nabooris’ systems, that perhaps together we could solve the problem.

Over the two day trip into the desert I kept my troubled mind occupied with theories and experiments, occasionally flipping through my journal and making notes for myself. It was overcast by the time we reached the Gerudo Highlands, the wind still and the sparse wildlife oddly silent. I paid it no mind, my head preoccupied with calculus and conjecture. It wasn’t until I heard a strange gurgle from behind me that I glanced up from my notebook; but by then it was two late.

Yiga rappelled down from the canyon walls with uncanny speed, launching themselves at my retinue. Three were down before I had even looked up, two had unsheathed their weapons and were grappling with Yiga blades, and the one remaining moved into position before me. My notebook fell from my hands to the dusty earth as a wave of fear broke over me and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

_Not again…_

Two of the ten attacking Yiga lay slain by my men, but still we were outnumbered four to three. Soon, another of my men fell, leaving but two to defend me as the remaining Yiga slowly advanced.

“Princess, run!” the one before me shouted, a pained grunt following his words as an arrow embedded itself in his side, which he broke with a vicious twist. “We will hold them off!”

I hesitated only a moment. I knew what would happen and I could scarcely stomach it. I sent up a silent prayer for the men I was leaving behind and set off down the canyon at full speed, the wind whipping my hair and stinging my eyes, adding to the tears which trailed back across my temples. My heart thundered like my steed’s hooves upon the hard earth and I prayed, this time, I would make it.

All of a sudden I saw an arrow embed itself in the ground ahead of me and jerked my head up, following its trajectory backward. My heart stopped. On the sheer walls of the Canyon Yiga were perched with bows in hand—dozens tucked away on every small ledge, weapons aimed right at me. Blood was rushing in my ears and I forced my attention back to the narrow canyon road, digging my heels desperately into my horse’s sides to urge it faster, drawing upon my limited equestrian training to dodge the arrows which rained down upon me.

But like in the Domain the Yiga’s aim was true, and just as the canyon opened up to the sandy expanse of the Gerudo Desert, an arrow struck my steed in the flank. It let out a pained whinny and tumbled to the ground, carrying me with it. I was tossed across the ground, my shoulder hitting a rock before I skidded into the sands. I could hear the Yiga rappelling down the cliff walls behind me like so many ants and I did not dare look back. I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the ache in my bruised knee as I ran out into the desert toward Kara Kara Bazaar and the Gerudo guards I knew to be stationed there.

My lungs burned from the dry air and my muscles ached both from my exertions and the bruising of my fall, but I ignored both, single-minded in my escape. But the Yiga were faster, and soon I was overcome, stumbling and falling to the ground as two landed before me, and two behind.

I gasped for breath as they closed in, my mind spinning in circles in search of an escape—but none appeared. My men were nowhere to be seen, and Kara Kara Bazaar was too far for any to notice me beyond the ripple of heat emanating from the sand. In desperation, foolish and illogical though it was, I called to the only person left who could save me as the Yiga’s blade rose.

_“ **Please** , Sir Knight!”_

I shut my eyes and turned away as the blade descended, holding my breath; but as before the strike never came. Instead I heard the ripping of cloth and a spluttering gurgle, followed by a dull thump. I dared to open my eyes and, as if from a dream, there he was—weapon in hand, standing guard over me as Yiga blood pooled onto the sand. My eyes widened.

He steadied his stance, twisting his blade threateningly as he glanced between the three remaining assailants. They each took a step back, and as he moved towards them they turned and fled, scampering off into the desert like rats. After several moments, the sand and the rippling heat swallowed their retreating figures.

All the while he stood before me, his stance never changing and his gaze never turning from the direction the Yiga had fled. I stared up at him with wide eyes, my heart jumping like a rabbit in my chest. After a tense moment he sheathed his sword, and my eyes caught on the glint of the handle, and its familiar winged crossbar.

Could he possibly be—after all this time…?

He turned toward me, blue eyes sweeping over my prone form, seeking out injury. When he found none, his shoulders relaxed. This time, though, I had my wits about me—enough to ask the question I could not get out the last we met.

“Who are you?” I breathed. He simply stared at me for several tense moments, head cocked and brows faintly furrowed before he spoke.

“Your Champion.”

His voice was low and rough, as though rusty from disuse. He took a step back, glancing out into the desert with narrowed eyes before returning his gaze to me.

“Hurry to Gerudo Town, Princess—before they return.”

Then, just as last time, he slowly turned ever more translucent until disappearing entirely. Though I was now safe, my heart beat did not slow; for I knew now, at least in part, the answer to the questions I had agonized over the past several weeks.

He _was_ real—and after years of searching, my Champion had finally been found.


	6. Link II

It is, perhaps, selfish of me, but I drew great amusement from her frustrated weeks buried in the library’s many books. She was trying to figure out who and what I was, that much I could tell; but what her specific theories were was harder to discern. She seemed to be approaching the problem from every angle possible if her chosen titles were anything to go by. I had seen her puzzle through many problems over the years in a similar manner, and I felt a strange delight at being the object of study beneath her microscope.

But as the weeks passed and her trip to Gerudo Town neared she put aside her inquiry to focus on the journey, much to my disappointment. It was for the best, I suppose. So much rested on her shoulders and I had taken up enough of her time as it was.

I was glad to see her Father had lived up to his pledge: six Royal Guards were to accompany her for the trip into the desert. I was grateful; I knew the Yiga would no doubt make another attempt soon. They were vicious, tireless foes—not easily put down.

The call of Ganon was growing as well. I could sense the beast’s restless agitation—pressing in on the barrier between worlds, prodding for weaknesses. The Princess, even the King and Queen could sense it, though perhaps not in the way I could. I did not quite understand how I knew. It felt almost a part of me, not unlike an insistent itch deep in my bones—one that remained just out of reach and grew slowly, steadily stronger every day. I suspected the Yiga, as worshipers of Ganon, could sense it as well. It would make them bold, and it was this about which I worried.

The first day of the journey south toward the Great Plateau was uneventful and I was grateful for it; but upon entering Gerudo Canyon I grew wary. There was little room to maneuver, and far too many places to hide. I kept my guard up, floating alongside the Princess, ears tuned and eyes alert. It was no surprise, then, that the attack came once we were trapped in the dead center of the canyon, squeezed into its narrowest point.

They seem to have anticipated she would be under heavier guard if there numbers were any indication. Ten rappelled down the walls, and I could see dozens more keeping watch from atop the canyon. I kept close to her, debating whether to reveal myself to aid her guard. Ultimately I fell on the side of caution and kept myself hidden, clinging to the element of surprise—my greatest advantage. Three of her men fell quickly in the attack, and two struggled to keep three Yiga each at bay. That left but one guard to stand between the Princess and death.

Another of her men fell and the Princess was urged to flee. I left with her. As we fled through the canyon more Yiga appeared upon ledges and cliffs high along the canyon walls, bows raised. This time I did not hesitate. I flickered in and out of form—just long enough to deflect arrows from her back, yet too quick to be seen from a distance. But their numbers were overwhelming, and despite my efforts an arrow slipped past my guard and embedded itself into her horse’s flank.

She went flying to the ground, and as she gathered her wits I stood between her and the narrow canyon, deflecting arrows as they were shot from the archers on the walls. She took advantage of the opportunity and escaped into the desert without looking back. I kept the arrows at bay to advance her escape, flickering in an out, heaving with the effort of materializing and de-materializing my form so rapidly for so long. After some minutes, when I estimated she should have run far beyond the archers’ range, I turned back to her.

Had I a heart to beat, it would have stopped; for she had fallen to the ground and four Yiga surrounded her, slowly closing in.

I dissolved into essence and flew to her. She had gained some distance after her tumble from the horse. As the Yiga closed in, for a breathless moment I feared I would not make it; but then I heard her scream—one that would haunt me in the days to come:

_“ **Please** , Sir Knight!”_

I do not know where I drew such strength. I sped along a slipstream of wind, crossing the remaining distance in the blink of an eye. I materialized instantly before her to land a furious slash across the neck of the Yiga who dared raise a blade against her. Blood spurted from the stump upon his shoulders and his head rolled, falling to the sand. His body collapsed moments later. I gazed hatefully at the three which remained, spinning the pommel of the Master Sword in my hand in silent threat. Each of the Yiga took a wary step back, and as I took one forward they turned and fled, running off into the desert where the winds and sands swallowed their retreating backs.

_Filthy rats, all of them._

I waited until they were well and truly gone before I sheathed my blade and turned to her, scanning over her prone form for any sign of injury. I was beyond gratitude to find naught but bruises.

_“Who are you?”_

My gaze lifted to hers, and for a moment I felt my breath catch. Her eyes were wide, intent and curious—unafraid of the specter before her. I knew, by now, she must have seen my sword. If not in the Domain, then surely here in the desert. She was far too intelligent for her own good; it would not take her long to figure it out if she hadn’t already. And so I gathered my wits and answered her question, ignoring the voice in my mind which whispered of ulterior motives beyond simple courtesy.

“Your Champion.”

My voice sounded foreign to my own ears; I do not remember the last time I spoke. Though part of me wanted to say more—to hear her voice again, directed toward me—it would not be long before the Yiga sent reinforcements. Her safety came first—always; and as her only protector, It was my duty to ensure it until she reached the safety of mortal guards. I took a step back and glanced about the desert before returning my gaze to her.

“Hurry to Gerudo Town, Princess—before they return.”

Her eyes held mine, filled with a hunger I had often admired when she faced some new mystery to puzzle through. It seemed I was her latest mystery—but I could not afford to let her get distracted by it. Not yet at least.

Her safety first—always.

I burned her wide, green eyes into my memory—her curiosity, the rapacious desire to know _more_. In all the years I had watched over her, this was but the second time that gaze had been directed at me. Though I intended, for her sake, to ensure my presence would not be needed again until the Calamity’s return, neither did I want to forget.

As last time I let my form dissolve and disappear—silent encouragement for her to hurry on to Gerudo Town. But I did not miss how, for a moment, her eyes lingered where I had stood; nor the way determination lit her eyes like a flame, leaving me with the unsettling sensation that the solid ground beneath my feet would soon give way.


	7. Zelda III

It was several weeks before I departed for the castle. Urbosa sent dozens of her strongest warriors out into he desert, to collect my men and search for Yiga hidden in wait of my return journey. Only three of my retinue returned alive, but ten Yiga guerrillas fell to her warriors’ blades. My father, too, sent soldiers—a battalion of twenty men, each armored and armed to the teeth. Another five fell at their hands.

It unsettled us all how many Yiga there seemed to be lurking in the shadows.

Only Urbosa knew the full story of what had happened out in the desert. I confided the truth to her in hushed whispers in the seclusion of her private chamber, unsure of what it meant and not wishing the information to fall into the wrong hands.

“Your Champion rescued you?!” she exclaimed, voice rough with restrained bewilderment. “And he’s… not human? How? _How_ can this be?!”

I wrung my hands. I loathed not understanding something, especially something of such importance.

“I do not know. I have some suspicions about what, precisely, he is—though I cannot know for certain.”

“But the Master Sword still rests in the sacred grove…!”

“And yet he carried it—and by his own word is the Hylian Champion,” I countered, though I was unable to fully mask my own doubt. “He admitted as much, and I can conjure no other explanation.”

“If what you say is true, how will he fight when the Calamity returns? Can he? _Will_ he?”

I shook my head. “I do not know,” I confessed, “My hope is that, much like his rescue, he will simply appear at the right—”

A muffled thump interrupted our conversation and Urbosa was quick to her feet. Shouting was coming from down below, and as we hurried toward the source of the noise, we found a semi-circle of guards staring down at a body crumpled in the sand. Red clothes adorned the figure, and a white mask lay cracked against its face. According to the guards a Yiga had tumbled from the roof of the royal chambers, a slash already cut across its throat by the time it hit the ground, lifeless. Urbosa stared hard at the heaped figure before barking orders for its removal. Then, she glanced to me and we shared a meaningful look.

It could be no other but him.

My return to the castle was made silently and without fanfare, despite the twenty guards which escorted me. Where upon my return from Zora’s Domain Mother had kept her anxieties hidden, now they were plain upon her face. Tears glistened in her eyes as she held me tightly, and I too clung to her, my own tears trailing down my cheeks. Even Father, despite his usual coolness, held me close. Kept apart for so many weeks, I can scarcely imagine the dreadful thoughts that must have invaded their minds, despite Urbosa’s reassurances.

I was allowed a day’s rest before discussion of the events in Gerudo Canyon were to be had. I spent much of that time sitting before my fireplace in deep thought, reflecting on the past several weeks. Twice now my Champion had appeared as if from nowhere to save me. Based on his ethereal appearance and my lack of any evidence to the contrary, I had been operating on the most likely assumption that he was some sort of guardian spirit of the Royal Family, hitherto unknown—one that only appeared in instances of dire need. But with the admission of his true purpose, I was forced to reassess my assumptions.

If he _was_ my Champion, it would make more sense that he protected me alone. But did he appear only when needed, or was he constantly by my side, unseen? My thoughts fell back to the incident in Gerudo Town, where the Yiga had been slain atop the Royal Quarters. I was not in imminent danger then—surely that indicated the latter?

I ruminated on this. He had appeared to me when I called for him in my moment of greatest need, that was true—but would he again? Or were the circumstances in the Gerudo Desert merely coincidence? I glanced about the room, then called tentatively to the empty air:

“Sir Knight?”

Silence was the only thing which greeted me.

In the morning I met with Father, and shared with him the same news I had shared with Urbosa. Relief and confusion warred on his face, sentiments I felt reflected in my own heart.

“The Champion is… a spirit?”

“That is my current theory,” I confirmed. I did not elaborate on how uncertain a theory it was, or what my alternative hypotheses were. Father never did appreciate uncertainty, always preferring solid ground upon which to stand—even if that ground was mere illusion.

“Can you… can you summon him, in some way? Will he fight Ganon?”

“I… do not know. He has come to my aid twice now—each time when I needed him most. I can only assume the same will be true of the Calamity.”

Father sighed and rubbed his brow in a weary gesture. “Let us pray, Zelda. Let us pray…”

It was Father’s edict, in light of the assassination attempts, that I was to cease any and all unnecessary travel and remain at the castle under heavy guard. Though I wished to argue with him—I felt most free out in the wilds—I could not find fault with his decision. In both incidents I had come dangerously close to losing my life. I could not put Hyrule at risk to entertain my own selfishness.

Thus, I settled into a new routine safe within the castle walls. The phalanx of guardsmen who accompanied me wherever I went made leaving my room wearisome and so I spent most of my time there, departing only for meals and meetings. I spent most of my days studying the guardians. Sheikah researchers kept me up to date on the latest discoveries and supplied me with fresh parts for experimentation and study. When I was not working I read, and when I was not working or reading, I was thinking. My thoughts drifted frequently to my mysterious Champion, and questions about the Calamity; his role in it. For a time, this kept me busy, and content enough.

But soon loneliness began to overtake me.

Mother and Father were both frequently busy and could spare only brief periods of time away from the court. Mother dedicated an hour every week to have tea together in the gardens which I looked forward to; but there were few others I could find solace in. The Courtiers were petty and duplicitous, and the servants, maids, and soldiers too restrained by formality and protocol to dare engage with me beyond polite pleasantries.

I attempted to keep up correspondence with my other Champions to ease the solitude. Mipha was continuing to do well with Ruta, and Urbosa had discovered a solution to the wildly fluctuating electrical discharge of Nabooris. Daruk and Revali were coming around to their own masteries as well; but all were too busy with their own affairs to maintain frequent correspondence. In truth, I was not needed—and there was little more I could do besides my aimless tinkering to help prepare for the Calamity.

Upon this realization my productivity began a slow decline, and malaise rose to take its place. Where before I had begun my day with enthusiasm, I found myself frequently lying about for some hours before making it to my desk. Even then, I did not work for long. Books no longer held my attention, and my thoughts had become increasingly difficult to marshal.

It was as I lay on my sofa one evening, gazing forlornly up at the ceiling—thoughts darting this way and that, that the revelation struck me. I was the keeper of the Goddess’ sacred sealing power—the bridge between worlds. I could _hear_ the voices of the spirit realm; why could I not _see_ spirits as well? If my Champion truly was as I thought, some kind of spirit, should my magic not aid me to summon him? To, at the least, see him at will and not merely when he chose to reveal himself?

I had nothing but time on my hands—surely I could find a way. In but a moment I had righted myself, the fire of determination and purpose warming me through. I set off for the library without a backwards glance.

The weeks which followed found me buried among stacks of books within my chamber. I scoured volume after volume, searching for some suggestion of how I might utilize my magic to interact with a spirit lingering in the world of the living. I found information about rituals for banishing evil spirits, the characteristics of poes, and the nature of the Sacred Realm. None of it was of use to me. By the second week I was feeling the discouraged urge to simply give up when I stumbled across it: an account of a Princess generations past who had struggled to combat a poltergeist wreaking havoc in the castle.

_“The Princess prayed to the Goddess and the Goddess lent her divine eyes which glowed with golden light, to find the ghost that hid within the castle.”_

My brow furrow in thought. It seemed unlikely to be literal; I very much doubted Hylia, wherever she was within the heavens or the Sacred Realm or parts all together unknown, would lend me her eyes. But… it was an intriguing thought. Perhaps I could somehow funnel my magic into my vision and create divine eyes of my own?

Though I did not have a clear idea how, over the next few weeks I set about trying.

I spent many hours in prayer and silent meditation, feeling out the threads of power within my body. I listened close to the voices of the spirit realm, following that link back to its anchor point within me. It took a week of searching to find it; then another several days to master its ebb and flow. If I focused, I could amplify the voices of the dead, pick out certain voices and shut others out. As my ability to manipulate this particular flow of power grew, I began to try drawing it into and through the rest of my body. It was slow going; always the magic felt too inflexible, slipping out of my grasp just as I manged to coerce it where I wanted it. It would tickle the backs of my eyelids but never infuse my vision with its power. Still, I kept at it.

It was as I worked, one night, beside the fire with a pot of tea—eyes closed and legs crossed in a meditative trance, that I finally felt it: a strange warmth in my eyes, and a sensation of unusual clarity… I dared to open my eyes and was startled by the my reflection in the polished silver of my teapot. I leaned closer, scrutinizing my distorted image; There was no mistake—my eyes were glowing. I had done it!

I stood in a rush, feeling a wave of light-headedness briefly overtake me. The magic was taxing to maintain, but I clung to it. I turned for my mirror, eager to see the results of my efforts more clearly when I jerked to a sudden stop halfway across the room, my heart skipping in my chest; for there, standing out on my balcony visible through the windows, was none other than my ghostly Champion.


	8. Link III

I watched from the rough stone roof of the Gerudo royal palace as guards were sent into the desert to hunt down any additional assassins and recover the Princess’ retinue—or, what remained of them. I suspected that the Yiga would not merely wait for the Princess to come to them—they would come to her; thus, instead of joining the search party I held silent vigil atop the tri-stone arch rising high above Gerudo Town, the gurgling spring my only companion.

I yearned to be with the Princess, instead. I was worried. I knew the attack had deeply rattled her, and seeing me again even more so. Her eyes held so many questions, and if I had learned anything about her over the years it was how she despised uncertainty. But I also knew she was under the watchful eye of Chieftainess Urbosa, and that aside from my company there was no place safer she could be. So I forced my self to stillness and waited.

I was not left waiting long.

A Yiga footman slunk across the desert like a hightail lizard snaking through the grass, dark magic clinging to his skin rendering him invisible to most—but not to me. He took advantage of a brief gap in patrols at the rear of the palace to sneak up the stone formation behind the training grounds, slipping beyond the range of any who might sense his magic. I watched closely, lowering myself into a crouch, waiting for the opportune moment.

He quickly scaled the rock, and as he reached the aqueduct I leapt from my vantage, landing silently beside him. It was as I stood I allowed my essence to coalesce, shimmering into visible form; but by then my arm was raised, and it was too late for the Yiga to react. I offered him naught but a vicious grin before bringing my sword sharply across his neck, a deep gouge left in its wake. The wound gurgled like the spring, blood dripping onto the stone and soaking, indistinguishable, into his red Clansman’s uniform.

In an instant his balance was gone and the Yiga fell, flopping noisily onto the sands below the rear balcony of the throne room. I faded once more into nothingness as guards came running, calling urgently to those within the walls.

It was some weeks later we finally left Gerudo Town, once the desert and the Canyon had been cleared of bodies and hidden enemies. The Princess was still and silent upon her horse, flanked by no less than twenty guards. Still, I kept close to her. Her anguished cry for my aid upon the desert sands echoed hauntingly within my mind, and the too-narrow margin of my rescue only served to unsettle me all the more.

Our return to the castle was greeted by a solemn-faced King and a tearful Queen, and emotional exchanges of affection between parents and child. They did not press her for immediate details, instead directing her to her chambers—to rest. Discussion would be had tomorrow.

She offered no complaint as she was escorted to her room by a phalanx of guards, settling wearily upon her settee by the fire. I remained nearby. I was wary of letting her out of my sight until I could ascertain the security and sufficiency of her guard. Though the weight of the past few weeks pressed down on us both, upon her it hung like a physical thing—evidenced by the way she slumped uncharacteristically against the backrest. I observed her from beside the hearth, listening to the gentle crack-pop of the fire, watching the delicate furrow in her brow deepen with thought.

After a moment she glanced up, looking uncertainly around the room. Soft, tentative words escaped through parted lips.

“Sir Knight?”

My heart skipped a beat, and I fell preternaturally still. Did… did she know I was here? Could she _see me_?

She glanced around the room, unsure, and by the way her eyes skipped right over me I felt sure she could not. Was she perhaps, instead, calling to me the way she had in the desert—wondering if I would appear at her request as I did then?

I took a single tentative step forward, heart in my throat, before I stopped myself.

_No._

No, I couldn’t allow this to become habit. She was growing… _distracted_ , by my presence. Dangerously so. What was more, after the scale of the attack in the desert, I was reticent to give up the advantage of my anonymity. Even if some of the Yiga managed to report back to the others of my unanticipated appearance, they would not know the details—could not know I was always by her side, nor that I was impenetrable to their physical attacks. I served her best unseen—my brief appearances limited only to the most dire of circumstances; and that did not change simply because she had grown curious.

I fell back beside the fire and remained silent as she glanced, beseeching, about the room.

The following morning the Princess was brought before the King, and the incident in the desert disclosed at length. I braced myself for discussion of the inevitable; it still felt strange, after so many years of solitude, to be the subject of such fervent discussion.

“The Champion is… a spirit?” the King queried in bafflement.

“That is my current theory.”

My lips twisted in a wry smile. Finally, she seemed to have settled on the truth. Despite myself, I felt a small burst of pride.

I listened as they discussed the revelation of my existence, and speculated whether I was willing and able to fight the Calamity. Both King and Princess seemed openly distressed by the matter. I was unconcerned about the King; but seeing the Princess’ worried gaze—the way she chewed at her cheek as she only did when she was deeply fretful… I briefly entertained the notion of stepping forward to reveal myself—if for no other reason than to reassure her I was ready, that I would forsake my very soul to ensure her safety, and the safety of Hyrule; if only to ease the pervasive worry from her fair features.

But as the night before, something stayed me.

I told myself I was worried over the King’s willingness to accept the stated good intentions of a ghost. I was untethered; incorporeal and beyond the boundaries of ordinary life and mortal motivation. Even if the Princess seemed relatively unperturbed by this fact, most, were they to see me, would be afraid.

But it was a weak excuse and even I recognized it as such. In truth, the reason was much simpler: it was I who was afraid.

Change always did bring about the unexpected and uncertain.

Once the meeting ended the Princess returned to her chambers, and I to her balcony to keep watch. I felt some measure of gratitude for the King’s command that she restrict her travel and remain at the castle. This routine was familiar—easy, uncomplicated; it would be much simpler to keep her safe this way.

Weeks passed by in routine fashion. The Princess kept mostly to her room, focused on her studies and communication with her fellow researchers and the Champions. For a while she seemed at ease, and I was content to watch her study and tinker. But as one week became two, became three, became six, I noticed a weariness settle about her shoulders—a dimness overtake her bright eyes. She worked less—read less, slept in longer.

I began to worry.

When finally I spent the early part of an afternoon watching her lie on the settee staring at the ceiling, I began to debate notifying the Queen of her daughter’s malaise—some subtle form of trickery, perhaps, to draw her to the Princess’ chamber; but before I could come up with a concrete plan, she suddenly rose from the sofa, eyes ablaze, and set off for the library.

Where before I had been able to easily discern her purpose for research, now I was left nonplussed. An array of texts ranging from disparate collections of old wives tales to a dissertation on the known qualities of the Sacred Realm sat in a pile before her, and she scoured each like a woman possessed; hunting, searching—her quarry near but always just beyond reach.

I shelved my plans to involve the Queen, and instead set about trying to pick apart her intentions—the sudden shift from indisposition to strident purpose.

Had she perhaps been seized by sudden scholarly inquiry? I supposed such a thing was always possible; but her study seemed more pointed than mere curiosity would arouse. She was looking for something—something specific. I just couldn’t seem to figure out what.

Some ten days later, however, she found it—buried deep in a history of Princesses past; for she abandoned her books all together after that.

She spent the days which followed in meditation, stopping only for meals and short breaks at her desk where she tinkered with guardian parts or reviewed correspondence. Her attention in council meetings was halfhearted—her thoughts clearly elsewhere, on whatever project slowly unfolded within her mind.

After several days came and went and her meditations continued unabated I decided I was unlikely to fathom her purpose, and reluctantly turned my attention elsewhere. It would do me no good to fixate on something about which I could neither understand nor change. Whatever malaise had earlier overtaken her seemed to be cured by her studious prayer. That was what mattered most.

With guards stationed at her door and outside her study, I deemed her well enough protected and took the opportunity to sweep the castle grounds, seeking out weak points in its defenses. I was appreciative to find few, and further gratified none seemed to realize the unfamiliar handwriting in the guardsmen’s log suggesting changes to the patrols was not, in fact, penned by one of the guardsmen.

Each evening when I returned to the Princess’ chambers to escort her down to dinner, I was greeted by the same sight. She would be sitting upon her settee or bed in a meditative trance, brow furrowed—still and unmoving. I shook my head, unable to stop the rise of a smile. She was determined—always so determined, in whatever task she set her mind to. Though time had given me no further clues as to the nature of her actions I knew, soon enough, her intentions would become clear.

I did not realize then, however, just how unprepared I would be when that time finally came.


	9. Zelda IV

I fled to my balcony door and wrenched it open, words leaving my mouth before I could think better of them.

“Have you been here this _whole time_?!”

I was angry; hurt, confused, and past frustrated. I had spent months trying to figure him out, and just as much time worrying about whether he would, or even could, fight the Calamity by my side as Destiny dictated. I had fallen asleep, wondering; awoken in bed, wondering… And despite how illogical it was, how much I wished he would just tell me _more_ ; I had come to trust him.

But all this time— _all this time_ …!

He turned on his heel with a start, mouth agape and eyes wide as he stared at me—at the glow of my eyes. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but he did not speak. It would, perhaps, have been more reasonable for me to give him a moment to catch up, but my temper had the better of me.

_“Answer me!”_

He took a wary step back, mouth snapping shut before he finally managed words.

“You… you can _see_ me?” he asked hoarsely.

I crossed my arms and stared at him, unimpressed that this was all he could summon.

“It took some work to manage, but yes.”

He stared a moment longer, expression dumbfounded, before his wits seemed to snap back to him. He took another step back, body tensed as if to flee—and I felt my heart skip a beat in my chest. The foolishness of my rash anger suddenly snapped into sharp relief. I could not lose this chance!

I extended a hand, reaching, all the anger bleeding out of my voice.

“Wait—I’m sorry; don’t go!”

He stopped abruptly and my fingertips passed right through his forearm, as if passing through a perfect reflection in still water. It felt as if passing through cold water, too, and I jerked my hand back, repressing a shiver. We stared at each other a moment, my hand clasped against my chest, and him halfway to leaping off the balcony’s edge.

“Is… that a royal command?” he asked lowly, expression still wary but a softness bleeding along the edges.

“I would prefer it wasn’t,” I replied carefully, “But it can be if it must…”

Though it could have been my imagination I rather thought his lips briefly quirked into the ghost of a smile. After a moment he turned back to me fully and offered a bow.

“As your Highness wishes.”

Then he righted himself and faced away, looking out over the castle grounds as he assumed a guardsman’s stance—legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. I frowned, but he did not move nor further acknowledge my presence. Irritation quickly returned to me and I petulantly crossed my arms, taking two steps towards him.

“That’s not what I—!”

Lights flashed suddenly before my eyes and my head spun. I stumbled against the wall, leaning against the cool stone as I closed my eyes against the wave of dizziness.

“Princess! Are you alright?”

I blinked muzzily to clear my vision and glanced up to see him standing over me worriedly. I offered him a wry smile.

“I’m fine,” I reassured, waving him off. “The magic I used to enable me to see you is… very taxing to maintain.”

He frowned at this and took a half step back, though his gaze did not leave me.

“If… if I make myself visible to you, will you stop using it?”

My brow raised at his unexpected question. His worry was quite clearly genuine; a furrow creased his brow, and the frown which tugged at his lips spoke of deep concern. If I’d had any doubts about his sincerity—about his commitment to protecting me, they were now gone. Still—I could not let this opportunity pass me by. I did not know if I would have such a chance again.

“Yes,” I began, eying him closely, “On the condition that you come inside and speak with me.”

I could see his frown deepen, concern morphing into wary reticence. But after a moment he acquiesced, nodding slowly as a shiver ran over his form. Where he had appeared translucent and pale when first I stepped out onto the balcony, now he looked solid, though the will-o-wisps once more floated at his feet and that eerie glow clung to his form. I closed my eyes and took a breath, releasing my hold on the magic and feeling my strength immediately return; and when I opened my eyes, he was still there. I smiled, taking strides to hide my triumph.

I pulled away from the wall and took a step toward the balcony door.

“Won’t you come in, Sir Knight?” I inquired cheerfully, pulling it open and gesturing for him to enter.

He stood a moment, eying me with a strange expression before nodding and striding through the door. I followed after, a gleeful smile on my face as I closed the door behind me.

_Finally_ , I would have some answers.


	10. Link IV

I stood guard on her balcony, absently watching the bustle of activity below me. My thoughts were elsewhere: on the Princess, on the Calamity, on the approach of autumn, on the lovesick Sheikah who always looked wistfully up at the Princess’ chambers whenever he walked by. Miroku, I believe his name was—the court poet. Once, he and the Princess had seemed close; but it had been some time since I’d seen her cast even a glancing eye in his direction.

I watched him wander in the growing dim through the grounds below, as he often did just after sunset, casting an eye up at me; or, rather, up at the Princess’ chambers. Though he was too far to hear, I watched his lips move in a familiar heavy sigh.

Poor man.

The Princess was inside her chambers sitting upon the settee in a familiar cross-legged pose, the fire crackling warmly before her. She had been seated there when I departed for my daily patrol of the castle grounds, she was still there upon my return shortly before dinner, and she was there now—after, dressed for bed and sitting rigidly beside her evening tea. I shook my head, biting down a smile. I would be most curious to know what she hoped to attain by her frequent meditations.

The evening was typical of late summer in Central Hyrule. It was calm; the temperature had cooled with the setting sun, and a faint breeze blew across Hyrule field, gently shaking the leaves in the trees. It no doubt smelled of dry grass and dust. I closed my eyes, listening to the chirp of crickets. I wished I could feel it—smell it.

The rattle of a handle and the squeal of hinges suddenly pierced the stillness, followed by a familiar voice—angry and a touch disbelieving, from just behind my shoulder.

“Have you been here this _whole time_?!”

My heart lodged in my throat as I whirled around in stunned surprise, only to find the wide-eyed gaze of the Princess upon me; not looking past me, nor in my general direction, but _fixed_ firmly on my face.

And her eyes were _glowing_.

How…? _How_ was this possible?! What had happened to her _eyes_? Is this what she had been working to achieve all this time?

_“Answer me!”_

Her eyes narrowed and her demand was sharp. I had never seen her fair features scrunched in such anger before—let alone directed _at me_. I scrambled for words, a spluttered question with an obvious answer the only thing I could get past my lips.

“You… you can _see_ me?”

She crossed her arms looking for all the world as though I had just asserted, with profound insight, that the sky was, in fact, blue.

“It took some work to manage, but yes.”

_‘…yes…’_

Her answer echoed in my mind with all the force of a canon blast and I was left reeling, feeling strangely, suddenly… exposed. I couldn’t remember feeling anything like it before. Always, I had been able to hide, to watch the world at a remove safe with the knowledge the world could not watch me. Without ever realizing, my invisibility had become my shield, and now that it was gone…

Goddess, she could _see_ me!

Panic seized me. I rarely felt panic. In the four years I had guarded her, the incident in the desert was the closest I had ever come to truly losing my head; but I felt on the verge of it now. Ordinarily I would simply dissolve—disappear into the realm beyond mortal sight; except that I already was, and I didn’t know what else to do.

Except to flee.

I took a step back, heedless of how ridiculous it would be to jump off the balcony’s edge and escape into the castle grounds; but as I made to turn her voice called after me, tone wholly changed from her earlier anger.

“Wait—I’m sorry; don’t go!”

I froze, and felt, suddenly, her hand pass through me. I shuddered at the contact, at the sizzle of magic running through her veins and the warmth of her mortality—such foreign, welcome warmth. I turned to stare at her, mind sluggish in my apprehension and confusion, trying to piece together this strange, suspended moment. Though her eyes still blazed brightly, her earlier anger was gone, replaced instead by contrition.

As she watched me, worrying her lip in an achingly familiar way, I was struck suddenly by the yearning I had felt so many weeks ago—first in the Domain, then again in the desert; the desire to be _known_. For all intents and purposes I knew her; but she knew nothing of me.

And… I wanted her to. _She_ seemed to want to. Despite my trepidation I could not deny this.

All at once my panic faded. Perhaps I had grown too used to solitude to readily adapt to this change in the winds—a change that had clearly been coming for some time. With effort I steadied myself and rallied my wits. I needed to look at this situation logically. While there were many reasons I preferred to remain unseen, I was also was well acquainted with the Princess’ stubborn streak. If she wanted to see me, there was little I could do to stop her—as evidenced by the present moment. But… even still, for my own peace of mind I had to be sure I wasn’t allowing myself to cross lines out of my own selfishness.

“Is… that a royal command?”

“I would prefer it wasn’t,” she replied with a scrutinizing gaze, “But it can be if it must…”

I felt a laugh bubble up my throat, but held back from sharing it aloud. Instead, I let a smile slip free. She had set her mind—there was truly no other choice, then.

Perhaps it was my own stubbornness rising to match hers—I hadn’t engaged in a battle of wits since… I couldn’t remember when; but I was reticent to be beaten so easily. Four years I had remained unknown and unseen, and in a matter of months she had not only determined my nature but devised a method of seeing me even when she otherwise could not. Her victory would not come so readily.

I offered her a careful bow, full and proper, before righting myself and catching her eye.

“As your Highness wishes.”

Then I turned and resumed my stance guarding her balcony door. I waited. I could almost feel her irritation like a hot wind, and hid my smile.

“That’s not what I—!”

I heard a stumble behind me and turned in time to see her falling against the wall, clinging to the stones for purchase, legs shaking with the effort of keeping herself upright. I cursed myself—my stubbornness, my lapse in decorum, the incorporeal nature of my form. I could only hover over her fretfully, hoping nothing was seriously wrong.

“Princess! Are you alright?”

She blinked up at me, the glow of her eyes disappearing briefly behind her eyelids as she offered me a wan smile.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, waving me away as she righted herself. “The magic I used to enable me to see you is… very taxing to maintain.”

I frowned. This… troubled me. It was one thing for her to devise a way of seeing me against my will; she wanted to know more, as she always did, and was dissatisfied with the boundaries I had imposed—I could appreciate that. But it was quite another to harm herself in the process. Though it felt distinctly like walking into a trap, I opened my mouth and asked the question anyway.

“If… if I make myself visible to you, will you stop using it?”

She eyed me closely, one brow arching elegantly in her surprise. The sensation of being ensnared only intensified.

“Yes… on the condition that you come inside and speak with me.”

My frown deepened. It would be that much harder to deny her once I was in her company—that much harder to redraw boundaries. I was certain of my ability to protect her from enemies; less certain of my ability to protect her from her own willfulness.

But… a part of me wanted to redraw the boundaries which had held me in place for so many years; wanted to step into this inner sanctum she was offering me. Despite knowing that we were worlds apart, I couldn’t help but want to truly _know_ her; and be known _by_ her.

After a moment I nodded, slowly, condensing my essence into visible form. She too closed her eyes and let out a breath, and when she opened them the glow was gone, and I was met instead with familiar orbs of green. A silent pact. She smiled, returning to the balcony door and holding it open for me.

“Won’t you come in, Sir Knight?”

The undisguised cheer in her voice and the suggestion of smugness about her lips was utterly unbecoming, and I felt for a moment the urge to roll my eyes. She was, at least in this, distinctly _not_ a gracious victor. How she could retain such poise during council meetings seemed a significantly greater accomplishment than I’d previously viewed it to be.

Or, perhaps, I had merely been a much tougher mystery for her to unravel than I realized. I felt strangely pleased by that thought.

As I walked through the door (for her sake—I could have passed through the wall just as easily), I gathered my wits, my patience and my courage, preparing for a long night. Goddess only knew what she had in store for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do my best to avoid this, but from here on out there may be more typos than there otherwise have been so far. The latter half of this fic was less polished than the first when I started publishing, so I'm going day-by-day to clean stuff up/revise/etc., and more typos and grammar errors are probably going to sneak through. So please forgive me! Thank you all for the enthusiasm and kind comments so far! We're finally getting to the meat and potatoes, and I am excited to share it with you all!


	11. Zelda V

I had hoped that all my fervent wondering would be put to rest by my Champion; but his answers to my impromptu interrogation were proving frustratingly indirect and sparse of detail.

“Who are you?”

“Your Champion, Princess.”

_Yes, you’ve mentioned._

“ _What_ are you?”

He merely raised a brow. “I believe you have already reached a conclusion regarding my nature.”

I resisted the urge to cross my arms petulantly. He must have heard me speaking to Father, then. But like Father, he likely did not know my claim was mere suspicion, and suspicion was a far cry from validated truth. Was his answer confirmation that it _was_ the truth? Or was he merely skirting the issue all together?

I re-asserted my theory, hoping he would be frank with me were I wrong. “You’re… a spirit, then?”

He remained silent and unmoving before, finally, offering a slow nod. I let out a quiet breath, grateful for some clarity at last, and allowed myself a moment to observe him. Aside from the ethereal glow hazy about his form, he appeared as real as any other occupant within the castle. He even sat, tall and composed, in the chair opposite me. I was admittedly uncertain of the need for him to sit as he was at my tea table—surely he would just pass right through the furniture? I suppose it was evidence of his courtesy that he was taking strides not to throw me off.

“Are you the spirit of the Champion from 10,000 years ago?” I continued. “Ours has not appeared, and I could not help but wonder…”

He frowned, uneasiness entering his expression.

“I… don’t know.”

“What… do you mean, you don’t know? How could you not?”

He looked at me with a furrowed brow—or perhaps more accurately, looked past me, into some distant corner of his mind. Then, his eyes refocused and his distress disappeared—and I was left wondering if it was ever there at all.

“I do not know, your Highness.”

_Strange…_

“Well… do you have a name?”

“If I did, I do not know it.”

I gaped, feeling increasingly off-balance. What manner of sorcery could steal the knowledge of such integral pieces of a person’s identity? Was this simply the price of being a ghost?

“You don’t know your own _name_?”

He shook his head.

“Well… what should I call you?”

“Whatever you wish.”

The incredulity must have shown on my face as I could swear I saw him smile, just for a moment. I thought to argue—so far I had gotten nothing but vagaries and more questions than answers. But then I took a closer look at him. There was the shadow of insecurity about his posture, though his expression was patient and his eyes trusting. I knew, then, he was telling me the truth: he truly did not know his past, nor his name. And what was more… he was allowing _me_ to name him. Such an intimate aspect of identity he had placed without question in my hands.

I felt… oddly touched.

But what to call him? I wanted his name to be meaningful somehow, tied to his identity the way my own name was. Though a spirit, he lingered here in the physical world; a bridge between realms—a link between the living and the dead…

What name could embody… _oh_. Oh! I sat up a little straighter.

“May I call you Link?”

He eyed me thoughtfully, a flicker of familiarity passing over his expression before nodding. I offered him a wide smile, feeling strangely pleased.

“Well then, Link… may I ask why you are here in the world of the living?”

“It is my duty to protect you.”

His answer was easy and automatic, and I did not doubt the sincerity of his words. I smiled softly, thinking back to Zora’s Domain and the Gerudo Desert, and the two times he had lived up to that pledge.

“I never did get a chance to thank you. You saved my life twice.”

“I am just doing my duty.”

“All the same…”

Silence fell, and the awkwardness which had briefly arisen in his affect eased. He seemed more comfortable ensconced in silence than he had facing my questions. He must have spent so long in quiet solitude, unknown and unacknowledged. Alone. I couldn’t help but wonder…

“Why do you hide from me?”

He looked up, a brow raised and the whisper of a smile pulling at his lips. “Among other reason, I rather thought seeing a spirit following the Princess around would be startling to many. Most would not be so accepting as you; I did not wish to cause alarm.”

Despite myself I laughed. He made a good point, and I felt silly not having considered such a simple explanation. I supposed hearing the voices of the spirit realm rather changed your perspective on such matters as death and ghosts.

“That is fair,” I conceded. “How long have you been following me, then?”

“Since you were fourteen, your Highness.”

I started, my humor immediately gone. _“That long?!”_

He nodded.

“So… you must know then, what is going on?” I inquired urgently, “The return of the Calamity?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

I felt my breath catch. Could it truly be so easy…?

“May I ask… will you fight the Calamity by my side as my Champion and the wielder of the sacred blade?”

His answer was easy and automatic.

“That was always my intention.”

I let out a relieved breath, feeling a weight I hadn’t been aware of lift easily from my shoulders. Finally, everything had fallen into place. The ancient Sheikah technologies had been revived, the Divine Beasts brought back to full function and assigned skilled pilots, my divine powers unlocked and now… the Goddess’ Champion, finally found.

_‘Since you were fourteen…’_

His words echoed in my mind and I felt a sudden frown pull at my cheeks. I had finished my training at fourteen… All those years spent searching for the champion—all those years of _worry_ ; all of it could have been so easily _avoided_!

“You could have told me, you know. It would have saved us all a lot of worry.”

His lips thinned, but he refrained from showing any other sign of distress, instead gazing down at the tabletop.

“I… apologize, for causing you worry. That was not my intent.”

I waited, expecting more… but he remained silent. I sighed. He hadn’t been very generous with details thus far; I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a dissertation.

“Well… now that we have properly met, and the King and Queen know of your existence, do you intend to continue your invisible vigil?”

“If it is not to your displeasure.”

I started, surprised once again by his answer. I was sure, now that relations had been established, he would not carry on as he had been?

“ _Why_? Surely you must have been lonely all those year—alone and unacknowledged?”

He shook his head easily. “You were always nearby—I was never lonely.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I fervently resisted the blush which tried to crawl up my cheeks. Such a silly reaction—he surely intended the comment practically…!

“And I can more easily protect you if hidden enemies do not know I am by your side. If it is not too much to ask, I would be gratified if you kept knowledge of my existence limited to those who are already privy, so that I can maintain that advantage—especially now, after the attempts on your life.”

I nodded quickly. “Of course—that is very wise.”

We lapsed into silence again, and the emptiness between us felt yawning. I considered the situation anew. I knew of him—he knew I knew of him. Once our conversation came to an end, he would once more return to his silent vigil and I… would return to my long, lonely days in my chambers, tinkering and reading and… waiting. Just… waiting, until the Calamity arrived. I frowned.

Perhaps my query about his loneliness had been somewhat of a projection. In truth, without the mystery of him to unravel I was… horribly lonely. Lonely and without direction, locked away in a tower like the Princesses in my childhood fables. All the research and meditation to enable me to see him had distracted me from it for some weeks, but now…

I felt another question scratch at my throat, wriggling to get out. It was selfish, and perhaps improper—certainly below the dignity of a Princess; but I asked anyway, fidgeting and unable to meet his gaze.

“After the attempts on my life I have been quarantined to the castle—as you probably know. It is… quite lonely,” I confessed quietly. “I can respect if you would like to keep your presence hidden publicly, but… in my chambers, would you… would you be willing to remain visible to keep me company?” I spat out my question far too quickly, and could feel my cheeks warm with embarrassment. I felt sure he would decline; we hardly knew each other, and as he’d made clear, he took his duty quite seriously.

It was to my surprise, then, that after several silent, agonizing moments he responded with a quiet, “Of course, Princess.”


	12. Link V

I knew I shouldn’t have been antagonistic—knew she deserved succinct, straightforward answers; but she hadn’t made it easy on _me_ , and what’s more… she was just so _endearing_ when she was flustered.

“Who are you?”

“Your Champion, Princess.”

Her brow furrowed, lips slanted at a frustrated angle and a fire lighting up the green of her eyes. It shouldn’t have delighted me as much as it did, and somewhere at the back of my mind guilt niggled at me for making this needlessly difficult; but I was too engrossed by the consternated glare she was giving me to care.

“ _What_ are you?”

“I believe you have already reached a conclusion regarding my nature.”

Her eyebrow twitched with agitation despite her efforts at poise, and I bit back my smile. I needed to maintain an outward air of seriousness. When she spoke, she did so slowly, tentatively, as if waiting for me to step in and correct her.

“You’re… a spirit, then?”

I kept still, watching her anxiously hold her breath before finally giving in to her anticipation and offering an affirmative nod. The tension in her shoulders immediately eased. She eyed me more closely—sizing me up anew under this revelation; speculating.

“Are you the spirit of the Champion from 10,000 years ago? Ours has not appeared, and I could not help but wonder…”

My good humor quickly faded away at this avenue of inquiry. It was something even I had wondered for many years. I had no memory of who or what I was before I had awoken on that cliff above the Temple of Time; and whenever I drew back into my mind where memory should be, the space was mysteriously empty.

“I… don’t know.”

“What… do you mean, you don’t know? How could you not?”

Despite knowing what I would find, her questioning prompted me to try—to see if maybe this time I could recall some scrap of my past (if I even had one). I thought back, trying to reach for memories—trying to imagine where I was or what I was doing before I had appeared on the Plateau… but there was nothing. Only that strange pull toward her carriage, and the absolute knowledge that I must protect her at all costs.

“I do not know, your Highness.”

“Well… do you have a name?”

She looked utterly confused by my non-answers and I felt suddenly self-conscious as I prepared to give her another.

“If I did, I do not know it.”

“You don’t know your own _name_?”

I shook my head.

“Well… what should I call you?”

“Whatever you wish.”

She stared at me in utter bewilderment, and my self-consciousness only increased. I had never had need of a name in all the years I had silently kept my watch; but if I were to need one, I would be happy to take any she would give me.

“May… I call you Link?”

Link… the name rolled around in my head like a marble, easily falling into a familiar rut. It was… strangely comforting, like falling into bed after a long day. I liked it. Link suited me. I offered her a nod, and she offered me a warm, radiant smile.

She probed a little more, even thanked me for rescuing her from the Yiga, and I gave her what answers I could; I was still distracted by that smile. I hadn’t seen her smile like that since her time excavating relics with the Sheikah. Only this time, it was directed at me.

My full attention was not brought back to the conversation, however, until she asked a question I _did_ have a proper answer to.

“Why do you hide from me?”

Ah. Where to start? The reasons were numerous, though the one that rose to mind immediately was not one I felt comfortable sharing. But of the others, I felt surprised she needed to ask—I would have thought they were obvious, even to her.

“Among other reasons,” I began carefully, “I rather thought seeing a spirit following the Princess around would be startling to many. Most would not be so accepting as you; I did not wish to cause alarm.”

To my surprise and delight, she laughed—a sharp, clear sound like a ringing bell, but tempered by a breathy softness.

“That is fair. How long have you been following me, then?”

“Since you were fourteen, your Highness.”

Suddenly, her smile disappeared, and her eyes once more warred between alarm and anger.

_“That long?!”_

I nodded carefully, fearful I had turned the tide of conversation in the wrong direction. I wished she would smile again. Perhaps I _should_ have let her know of my presence much sooner, after all…?

“So… you must know then, what is going on? The return of the Calamity?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“May I ask… will you fight the Calamity by my side as my Champion and the wielder of the sacred blade?”

I cocked my head at her, a touch confused. I had told her I was her Champion… Did she doubt my fealty? Was my dedication unclear?

“That was always my intention.”

It took a moment for my words settle between us, but once they did her demeanor entirely changed. She looked as if the world had lifted from her shoulders, and I thought perhaps I had gotten the conversation back on track; but then, suddenly, the anger was back, causing her brows to slant.

“You could have told me, you know. It would have saved us all a lot of worry.”

I felt the guilt which had been slowly building gnaw at my insides. I had thought for so long I had done the right thing, that it was the practical choice; but now, I couldn’t help but doubt the years I had remained unseen, following in her shadow—the decision to keep myself hidden. Had I been wrong? Had I done more harm than good?

But then my mind cast back to the Yiga I had slain in the Domain—to the tension in his shoulders, the surprise in his step just before I took his life. I thought of the way I had been able to protect her from the unsuspecting Yiga’s arrows, the wary posture of the four who had surrounded her in the desert, stunned and caught off guard by my sudden appearance.

Perhaps there had been a better way to go about it—but I couldn’t regret my decision, now—not when it had saved her from certain death.

“I… apologize, for causing you worry. That was not my intent.”

She stared, clearly expecting more… but I had no more to say; didn’t _know_ what else to say. After a moment she sighed, the anger bleeding out of her—and with it much of her energy.

“Well…” she began wearily, “Now that we have properly met and the King and Queen know of your existence, do you intend to continue your invisible vigil?”

“If it is not to your displeasure.”

She seemed surprised by my answer, though I felt it should be obvious.

“ _Why_? Surely you must have been lonely all those years—alone and unacknowledged?”

I spoke without thinking, and it was only after I realized my foolishness.

“You were always nearby—I was never lonely.”

She fell still, lips parted in surprise and a dusting of pink sprinkling her cheeks. Had I any blood to thrum through my veins I imagine I would look much the same. I hurriedly amended my statement, adding, “And I can more easily protect you if hidden enemies do not know I am by your side. If it is not too much to ask, I would be gratified if you kept knowledge of my existence limited to those who are already privy, so that I can maintain that advantage—especially now, after the attempts on your life.”

She seemed to snap out of her surprise quickly and take my words to heart, nodding and vocalizing her agreement. And then, silence lapsed between us.

I repressed the urge to sigh. Though realistically I’d said little to merit it, I felt as though I’d made a fool of myself, and upset her in the process. Of the many reasons I had kept to myself all these years, this was one. I didn’t know how to be… _social_.

I glanced tentatively up at her, only to see her fidgeting in her chair and staring down at the table. Had I upset her that much? _Goddess_ , I was a fool…

But after a moment she spoke—and her words were not ones I was expecting.

“After the attempts on my life I have been quarantined to the castle—as you probably know. It is… quite lonely,” she murmured down at the wood. “I can respect if you would like to keep your presence hidden publicly, but… in my chambers, would you… would you be willing to remain visible to keep me company?”

I fell preternaturally still, staring open-mouthed at her as she fisted her dressing robe in her lap. She… wanted me around? Wanted me to… to keep her company?

I hadn’t upset her?

I felt a smile pull tentatively at my lips. It was… a reasonable compromise, if I really thought about it. I could be visible in her chambers—keep her company, and still maintain my advantage against unseen enemies in the castle and beyond. And what was more, having now discussed the matter, she—as well as the King and Queen, could relax knowing their Champion was nearby and at the ready; I wouldn’t have to feel guilty keeping myself hidden.

And… I could get to know her; and she could get to know me. Until this moment I had not allowed myself to feel that desire in its fullness. It felt shameful how much I wanted it, now that the opportunity was within reach.

I was quiet a moment, mulling it over—making certain this was wise, that I wasn’t giving in to temptation for temptation’s sake. But even upon examination the drawbacks were scant, and after a time my selfishness won out. I murmured quietly, as if wishing to keep this admission from any but her:

“Of course, Princess.”

That night, after she curled up in bed and fell asleep, instead of wandering out onto the balcony to keep watch, I wandered the confines of her room, feeling for the first time some manner of permission to indulge my curiosity. I stared down at all the little cogs and springs and wires that made up the guardian parts littering her desk, perused the books upon her shelf, and gazed at the collection of clips and pins which littered her vanity. A smile pulled at my face. It seemed she had a preference for green and blue. That suited her.

After a moment’s hesitation I allowed myself to wander past her bed, catching a glance at her sleeping form between the four poster’s curtains. The moonlight snuck in through a similar gap on the opposite side of the bed, casting a slant of light across her face. In sleep her features were soft, absent the worry and deep thought which characterized her waking hours. She looked… ethereal, in the silvery light—not so different from me.

I wanted to reach out—stroke the hair back from her face that she might sleep more comfortably; but I was nothing more than spiritual essence. My touch would merely cause a shiver, passing through the strands as easily as water through reeds. I sighed and moved away—back toward the balcony and the familiarity of my nighttime vigil there.

She deserved her privacy, anyway.

I passed through the wall and took up a stance near the parapet, thinking. It would be strange, come morning. I didn’t know how things would change, nor what kind of company she had in mind. Conversation, I supposed. Despite the uncertainty, a part of me was excited. A new chapter of my existence was a page-turn away, and I was eager to meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My revision/posting routine has gotten a bit out of wack, not aided by how busy I was today, and I now seem to be posting in the evenings instead of the mornings? So... if I can fix that I will, but otherwise expect evening updates I guess, lol.


	13. Zelda VI

I have a strict morning routine. Each day at seven I rise from bed and pray at my bedside, then go about my morning ablutions. Once bathed my handmaids come in to help me dress and brush out my hair. After their departure I head to my desk and settle in to work. Most days I remain there for some hours—often until lunch time. I have adhered to this routine within the castle, by and large, since I was young. It was a testament, then, to Link’s long and silent watch that he was so attuned to it. He did not need any cue from me, nor did he question how the day would proceed. As I seated myself at my desk he strode in off the balcony, shimmering into visibility as he took his first step into my chambers.

I confess, those first few days with Link out in the open were… awkward. I did not know what to say to him, nor was I sure how to interact. He simply stood by my fireplace in a guardsman’s stance, silent—watching. I suppose the awkwardness was, itself, a distraction from my loneliness—as well as the challenge of cracking him open. I took to the task with gusto.

My scheme, simple thought it was, was to ease him into conversation by talking aloud as I worked. He did not, of course, respond—at least initially; but I soon noticed how his eyes drifted towards me as I spoke, and over the course of days his post began to shift. I can only assume he was as tired of our awkward standoff as I, or perhaps he was merely curious of what I was doing, for it was less than two weeks before his post underwent a location change, from beside my fireplace to beside my desk.

Even still, near as he was, he would not speak; but he could not hide how his gaze grew ever more curious, and I caught him peering down at my projects when he thought I was otherwise engrossed—and on more than one occasion. I took to prompting him, to see if I might coax out his interest.

“What do you think might result if I mix bokoblin horn and cool safflina with a hylian mushroom in an elixir?”

“Do you think Father will allow me to attend the harvest festival this year?”

“What do you think fuels the ancient tech?”

Yet he clung to his silence, and though I continued with my efforts at conversation, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever break.

It was a day like any other when he finally did—responding to a thoughtless off-hand comment about the merits of wood carving; and though I was taken completely by surprise I tried not to show it, nor the depths of my glee at finally hearing words other than “Yes, Princess” or “No, Princess”. I responded eagerly, carefully drawing him further into conversation; and, strangely, he seemed happy enough to indulge me.

It was not long after that my one-sided monologues gave way to a tentative duologue; an exchange of questions—of curiosity and speculation. Link proved to be a keen, attentive listener. Despite his silence he had not missed a word I’d spoken over the past weeks, and when prompted, offered insight of his own.

“I think if you mix bokoblin horn and cool safflina with a hylian mushroom, you will have wasted three ingredients.”

He was witty, too.

Our evening routine was somewhat less interactive, though that couldn’t be helped. When, shortly before sunset it came time for dinner, I would depart my chambers and he would once more become invisible to my eye, fading away as soon as I opened my door and entered into the company of my guards. Though I could not see him trailing behind me, I began to learn how to sense him. It was a slight prickle on the back of my neck, a sensation of being watched; the abstraction of another presence always filling a room. I doubt any other than myself could notice such spiritual subtleties.

Usually, he would remain silent, too; but, on rare occasion, he would make himself heard only to me.

Three weeks into our agreement during dinner, when Lord Waxley made a snide remark about this year’s Gerudo pilgrimage, I murmured a witty, if scathing, insult beneath my breath to no one in particular as I politely sipped my soup. Just behind my right shoulder, I heard his quiet chuckle and smiled secretively into my spoon.

Dinner was frequently a dry affair, and I often hurried my meal to return to my room and my projects—and now that I had Link, to enjoy his quiet company and conversation. But one night a month or so into this new routine, my departure from the hall was interrupted by the court bard, Miroku, who intercepted me between the long table and the dining hall doors.

“Princess, I beg your pardon, but before you depart may I beg a favor?”

Miroku was a kind man, and I had enjoyed his company years prior at excavation sites—both his intellectual curiosity and his musical talent. But over the years he had lost his candor, and his music its joviality, growing heavy with discontent and longing. I could only chalk it up to the sullying influence of the court—they did so adore their sappy ballads and tales of star-crossed lovers. I myself preferred songs of wit and adventure; it was this mutual love which had sparked our friendship in the first place. Though we still exchanged pleasant greetings in the castle halls, I felt bad that our friendship had soured so over such trivialities.

I offered him a polite smile and my attention, despite how I itched to retreat to my chambers. “Of course, Master Miroku.”

He smiled broadly and held his mandolin close, an excitable air about him. “I have a new set of songs I would love to have your opinion on before I present them to the court. Do you perhaps have time tomorrow that I may borrow your ear?”

He eyed me with such a hopeful expression, I could not stomach how the rejection I wished to convey would make it fall. I forced my smile wider, resigning myself to his company. “I… do think I can spare some time tomorrow afternoon.”

His smile grew bright and his eyes positively glimmered with delight. “Wonderful, Princess! I am ever so grateful. Shall I meet you in the southern garden around noon?”

I nodded, already turning for the door. “Tomorrow at noon, Master Miroku.”

I returned with some haste to my chambers, eager to dive back into my work. Link appeared as soon as the door to my chambers shut, following me dutifully to my desk where I spent the remainder of the night buried in the deconstruction of a guardian core.

The following day I awoke dreading the approach of noon; and as I fell into my research that morning with exceptional verve, I felt particularly keen chagrin about my promise to Miroku. As the clock struck half past eleven I ruefully forced myself up and away from my work to depart and head for the southern garden, Link hidden in my shadow and my guards at my side.

Autumn was well underway and the garden was sunny but cool, an eastern breeze rustling the browning leaves clinging determinedly to the trees. Miroku sat waiting for me and I greeted him with forced cheer, sitting beside him on a bench beneath the garden gazebo. Though my mind was still back in my chambers on my research, he did not wait to regale me with the creative inspiration for his first piece, eyes alight with enthusiasm and something else—perhaps fondness. I felt a wave of guilt as I considered he may be missing our old friendship as well, and redoubled my efforts to pay attention.

His first song was slow—melodic but mournful. He sang of beautiful eyes and kind smiles and fluttering hearts. I offered polite praise, smiling through my discomfort as he began his second piece, much the same as the first. Half an hour dragged on in this way, and as the Castletown clock tower struck one o’clock I felt only too grateful to excuse myself back to my chamber, pointedly ignoring the way Miroku’s lips lingered on my knuckles in his parting farewell.

As my chamber doors closed behind me I released a relieved breath, heading immediately for my desk as Link became visible beside me.

“I must confess, I miss Miroku’s old songs of adventure,” I lamented, pausing before my bookshelf and scanning its many titles, tossing a quick smile his way. “They were such a joy. You would have liked them. I fear the court has been a poor influence on his music; they do so adore their lovesick ballads, and that is all he seems to play these days.”

I found the title I was searching for and pulled it from the shelf, turning for my desk chair with it tucked beneath my arm when I found Link staring at me strangely, in his usual spot beside my desk.

“Link?”

He remained silent a moment, brows furrowed, before he cleared his throat.

“Princess, if I may?”

I nodded, turning to him more fully.

“Do you… entertain feelings for the bard?”

My mouth fell open in surprise, and I could feel my heart give a small flutter. Thus far our conversations had been fairly limited to the subject matter of my work or the goings on in the castle. Given how difficult it had been to achieve that much, I was surprised, to say the least, that he would bring up such a personal matter.

“No, of course not! I don’t… Why do you…?”

“Then… may I make a suggestion?” he interrupted politely, expression carefully neutral. I felt my own brows furrow in confusion but nodded anyway.

“Though I’m sure your intentions are only good, do not give the poor man false hope. He pines for you so, and I fear your attention may be giving him the wrong impression of your feelings.”

I felt as stunned as though he had doused me in cold water. _Miroku??_

“He… _pines_ for me?”

Link cocked his head strangely. “Have you not noticed?”

“I… no, I don’t— _surely_ you are mistaken?”

“His songs—they are of his love for _you_ …”

He made the statement with such absolute surety—as though this fact was the most common of knowledge, I felt my grip on the situation slip entirely between my fingers.

“I— _what_? No—he _couldn’t_ , I…”

Link remained silent, gazing at me with an expression bordering on pity, and I found my mind combing back through the lyrics he had sung to me just this afternoon, the painful love-sickness etched in every word—his turn towards romantic ballads all those years ago which had turned me away. The more I reflected, the more I couldn’t escape the truth Link had pointed out. Miroku… he—he _was_ in love with me!

I felt like _such a fool._

I slumped into my desk chair, my face feeling hot as though I sat before the warmth of my fireplace, my heart awash in embarrassment and guilt.

“ _Oh_...”

Link smiled at me with a strange combination of amusement and sympathy, leaning over the desk to meet my wide-eyed gaze.

“Do not feel guilty, Princess. You have been focused on your research, and Master Miroku is but a man.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but I felt comforted by the words nonetheless. I let out a slow breath, praying my embarrassment would ease as I ran a hand over my face.

“I don’t know how I will focus, now,” I grumbled, absently flipping my book open. Link smiled, pointing to an object on the table precariously balanced atop a pile of parts in the corner.

“Tell me what this does.”

With a sigh I shut my book and complied; and soon I fell into a lengthy dissertation about the intricate mechanics of guardian axles. Link listened attentively, asking occasional questions, and despite my lingering unease it was not long before my thoughts were fixed firmly once more on my work, all memory of Miroku—his unrequited affections, and my foolishness, forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm late. Technically it's the next day... sorry about that! These chapters are getting a liiiiittle out of hand. I had hoped to stay around 1000 words per chapter, give or take 200. But my pre-post review/revisions are getting away from me. But... it also feels like the chapters need the extra words? So IDK how this is going to work, I'll be real with ya. I'm still shooting for daily updates, but I did not account for the time needed to work on chapters double the size I outlined them to be. I don't have a solution figured out yet, so chapters may continue to be late and long. Which is a good and bad thing I guess? I'll keep you updated in tomorrow's end notes!
> 
> Anyway thank you all for following and for your patience! Hope you enjoy!


	14. Link VI

I was nervous. It felt ridiculous to be nervous given my excitement the night prior—but I was, and despite my desire to speak with her it kept me silent. I doubt I would have known what to say, anyway.

Those first few days, for lack of any better alternative, I hid within the routine that had become so familiar to me. The only notable change was that now, I let her see me. Mid-morning I strode in off the balcony as she settled at her desk, taking up position by her fireplace as had long been habit. I felt eased by the fact that, that first day, she remained relatively silent, too.

But then, she started talking.

She wasn’t talking to me, specifically. She was thinking out loud—speculating, questioning to the room at large. There were a few times I wanted to respond, but I held my tongue, certain I would make a fool of myself; I knew nothing of the complex inner workings of the ancient Sheikah tech, after all. But now that my presence was out in the open, and given how at ease she seemed to be in my company, the desire to interact with her in some fashion was growing. Instead of speaking, to scratch the itch I allowed myself to slowly inch closer to her desk, my curiosity and the desire for her company winning out over my nervousness. She made no comment about it, but soon her questions to the room became questions to me.

“What do you think might result if I mix bokoblin horn and cool safflina with a hylian mushroom in an elixir?”

“Do you think Father will allow me to attend the harvest festival this year?”

“What do you think fuels the ancient tech?”

I often did not have answers, but her queries were successful in sparking my thoughts and I often found myself wishing to share them with her; but as before, I held my tongue. Logically, I knew it was foolish. I knew her, I could surely manage a comment or two without incident. But, illogical though I knew the fear to be, I was afraid of tarnishing the high opinion she seemed to hold of me.

For days she kept on, and I kept silent; until one day she asked a question I simply could not keep quiet about.

“Do you think Father would enjoy a wood carving commemorating this year’s hunting trip for his birthday?”

She leaned back in her chair, eying a pile of tree branches, logs, and stumps that had been delivered to her room a week prior. They were from a particular species of willow in the Hickaly Woods. She had requested some be harvested that she might study the healing properties of its bark. “I asked for a single branch, not half a tree!” she had lamented days earlier, and spent considerable time attempting to think up clever ways to make use of the remains.

“It is from the same forest he killed that buck he was so proud of,” she continued with a touch of distaste. “But… do you think that would be too… pedestrian?”

For reasons I could not fathom I felt a strange defensiveness arise within me, and any commitment to silence or the bindings of illogical fears were entirely forgone.

“Wood carving is an ancient art shared by all of the five races, and requires years of dedication and practice to master. It is absolutely deserving of the attention of a King, and would make a fine gift.”

I was surprised by the force in my voice, and if the Princess’ wide eyes were any indication so was she. But she mastered herself quickly, and offered me a bright smile.

“You know about wood carving?”

I nodded tentatively. I wasn’t sure how, but the knowledge nonetheless bounced about in my head. She scooted closer, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity.

“Do you have any suggestions then, for what I should do?”

Before I realized it I was explaining the differences between a wood carving and a relief carving, and as her gaze grew increasingly rapt with interest, I realized that perhaps my ardent fear of making a fool of myself was a good deal more baseless than I gave it credit.

After that it was like a switch had been flipped, and conversation came as easily as anything else. We spoke regularly throughout the day, about her work or the goings-on in the castle. Our easy back-and-forth melded quickly into the routine I’d kept for years, brightening the long hours spent stationed beside her and making the days fly by. I began to realize, slowly over weeks, just how lonely those years had been. They hadn’t been horrible by any means, but it was a very different thing to see her smile directed at me than simply to see her smile; to hear her laugh at a joke I had shared than simply to hear her laugh.

It was about a month into this new routine we encountered the first significant deviation. The court bard, Miroku, intercepted her as she made to depart the dining hall, requesting her opinion on some of his new pieces. I hovered just behind the Princess’ shoulder, eying the adulation and desperation in his eyes with pity. He desired her company so desperately and was so utterly unable to hide this fact, it was difficult simply to watch.

Over years I had seen distance grow between the Princess and the bard, and as his feelings grew had taken it as indication she did not share those feelings. As he made his request I expected to hear her vocalize a polite declination; and so I was surprised when, instead, she politely agreed. I stared at her bemusedly as we departed his company, peering between a gap in her guard to scrutinize her features; but she gave little away.

Had I been wrong? He no doubt intended to woo her, and I could see little other reason for her to accept than to entertain his affections. For reasons unknown to me I felt a strange twist in my gut, and an ugly frown pull down my lips at the thought. When we returned to her chambers she immediately dove into work, and I was left to wonder if I had read her entirely wrong.

The following day began like the many before. I met the Princess at her desk, and she dove into her work with exceptional vigor. We spent the morning chatting amiably about the properties of hightail lizards, and by the time noon neared she pulled away from her desk with a sigh, turning for the balcony to head down to the garden. I followed after silently, releasing my hold on material form as I crossed the threshold of her balcony door.

I was… confused. She did not seem terribly pleased to depart her work to meet the bard, despite her ready acceptance the day prior. Perhaps she was merely disappointed to leave her work behind when it had been going so well? I shook myself of these thoughts, attempting to clear my mind as the garden approached and her guards took up position at its entrance.

As expected, the bard’s songs were dripping with amorous longing, praising her eyes and hair and skin; and the Princess seemed… utterly unfazed. I stared at her, struggling to puzzle through her faintly bored expression. I liked to think I knew her well after four years in her service—but this I did not understand.

When finally it came time to depart the bard bid farewell with a kiss to the back of her hand—one that lasted just a little too long, and the Princess hurried back to her chambers. As the door closed behind us she let out a sigh, beelining for her bookshelf as I became visible once more, following behind.

“I must confess, I miss Miroku’s old songs of adventure,” she opined as she searched the spines, offering me a brief smile. “They were such a joy. You would have liked them. I fear the court has been a poor influence on his music; they do so adore their lovesick ballads, and that is all he seems to play these days.”

With those words it suddenly struck me: _she didn’t know._ She didn’t realize his songs were about _her_. I stared in astonishment, only just managing to keep my mouth closed. For all her intelligence, she couldn’t see his obvious adoration right in front of her face.

When finally she turned around I had managed to pull myself from my surprise, but something must still have shown on my face as she cocked her head at me with a furrowed brow.

“Link?”

I cleared my throat carefully, debating. She really ought to know, if for no other reason than to spare the poor man’s heart. I gathered my wits, shuffling through various approaches. How best to break it to her…?

“Princess, if I may?”

She nodded, turning. Being straightforward was probably best.

“Do you… entertain feelings for the bard?”

Shock immediately colored her features and her mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’.

“No, of course not! I don’t… Why do you…?”

Her voice was far from scandalized, but embarrassment was clear in her tone. I tried to gentle my own.

“Then… may I make a suggestion?”

She stared a moment before nodding carefully.

“Though I’m sure your intentions are only good, do not give the poor man false hope. He pines for you so, and I fear your attention may be giving him the wrong impression of your feelings.”

She blinked, flinching as though I’d struck her. I briefly debated the wisdom of breaking it to her so frankly.

“He… _pines_ for me?”

“Have you not noticed?” I cocked my head, struggling to reign in my disbelief (and my laughter).

“I… no, I don’t— _surely_ you are mistaken?”

“His songs—they are of his love for _you_ …”

She stared off into the distance, blinking rapidly as though she could clear her eyes of whatever film prevented her from seeing what I saw so clearly. After a breathless moment she slumped into her chair, cheeks awash in red.

_“Oh…”_

Her tone was weighed down by the gravity of her realization, low and quiet. I couldn’t help my sympathetic smile, and leaned over her desk to reassure her.

“Do not feel guilty, Princess. You have been focused on your research, and Master Miroku is but a man.”

It was only after the words were out of my mouth I realized the veiled complement within them—one that was perhaps not entirely appropriate of me; but she seemed not to notice, and I was grateful for what I was discovering to be an utter blindness of affection..

“I don’t know how I will focus, now,” she grumbled, dispiritedly flipping open her book. I quickly scanned her desk, searching for what I knew might serve as a suitable distraction. Spotting the complex metal object in a corner, I pointed to it.

“Tell me what this does.”

It did not take her long to fall back into the domain of her study, voice growing increasingly enthused as she imparted the function of each of the object’s dangling parts. By the time she turned in for bed and I departed for her balcony, she seemed to have forgotten all about Miroku’s unrequited affections.

And I was left with naught but my thoughts, stewing on the surface of my mind as I looked out over grounds cast in the dim light of a crescent moon.

I suppose it was due to having never observed the Princess engage in any form of romantic entanglement before that I had been so caught off-guard by her naivete. After all, she had spent the past four years consumed by her duties and her research. Love was clearly not on her list of priorities, nor was it something with which she had any experience. I had assumed her intelligence would readily lend itself when the time came, but I suppose matters of the mind and matters of the heart are two very different things.

I let out a sigh, shifting my stance as I gazed out over the castle and down at the southern garden. On the subject of matters of the heart…

Having had time to reflect, I came to realize the nature of the strange feeling which gripped me the night before, and throughout much of the day: jealousy. It was petty; I had the pleasure of the Princess’ company at all hours. Why should I be jealous of the bard who had received but an hour of her attention?

But it wasn’t that—deep down, I knew there was more to it. I wasn’t bothered that she had spent time with him; it was that, briefly, I believed he might be the recipient of the Princess’ romantic affections.

And I’d been jealous.

I knew I was fond of her—most were once they got to know her (save perhaps Revali, but he was a special case). Everyone spoke of her beauty and praised her intelligence and lauded her kindness. She was easy to fall in love with—several courtiers harbored affections for her. The bard was just another victim of her charms.

Was I as well?

I had never given the nature of my feelings towards her much thought. I’d never had any reason to, as until recently she didn’t even know of my existence and I’d thought there was little to no chance of us ever speaking. How I felt, so long as it did not impede my duty, didn’t particularly matter. But now…

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted about this on my Tumblr but to summarize: I figured out what I'm going to do with these longer chapters. They seem to be hovering around 2,000 words, and since I budgeted time for 1,000 words a day, I'll stick with that--and post a chapter every two days instead of every day. If I can catch up I will try, but I'm not going to stress myself out over it or hurry the story. I have specific pacing/plotting in mind and I want to stick to that. I hope you all enjoy today's chapter, and I'll be back in two days with more!


	15. Zelda VII

The autumn solstice came and went and with it arrived chill evenings and strong afternoon breezes. The grasses of Hyrule field, verdant green in summer, had become a shimmering ocean of amber rustling in the wind. Once the winter rains set in, they would become brown and sodden; I would have only a few more weeks to enjoy its golden beauty, and since I could not frolic about in its waist-high reeds as I usually would this time of year, I intended to enjoy it from afar as much as possible.

It was evening and I stood with Link by the railing of the Sanctuary’s bell tower, having climbed it after dinner for the view it afforded. He had been kind enough to carry a bowl of ice cream for me, left over from Father’s birthday celebration, and it was thus I learned that, as a spirit, Link was capable of possessing inanimate objects. I perhaps should have considered this sooner—it was well known that poes would sometimes inhabit the walls of old manors or trap themselves within ancient relics. And while It was eerie to see the bowl float beside me as I ascended, I could not deny the usefulness of such a skill as I spooned myself another heavenly bite of spiced pumpkin cream.

“Thank you for your guidance with Father’s birthday present,” I commented between bites. “I’m not sure I would have known what to tell the artist otherwise. As I’m sure you saw, it was a tremendous success. ”

Link glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, a smile brightening his features. “It was my pleasure.”

I hummed, spooning the last bite of ice cream with a satisfied sigh. I gazed out across the expanse of golden field with a smile. It was radiant in the amber evening light.

“I suppose I should thank you for carrying my ice cream as well. I wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy it with such a view were it not for you.”

He glanced my way and offered a nod, gaze lingering. I met his gaze with warm smile. Though it had only been two months, I had grown to greatly enjoy his company. He had quickly become an invaluable friend and trusted confidante. After all, I wouldn’t entrust just anyone with the King’s birthday present.

“By the way, I couldn’t help but wonder: have you always been able to possess objects? Is it something you’ve done before?”

“I can only assume so,” he replied, turning his gaze back to the sunset. ”Though I didn’t realize it until about a year after I entered your service. Do you recall when you spent several days searching for your translated copy of the Myth of the Eighth Gerudo Heroine?”

“Oh, yes! I was so frustrated—I had looked everywhere, only for it to turn up right on top of my—”

My eyes suddenly widened, realization dawning upon me. “You put it there!”

His eyes twinkled with merriment as he nodded. I couldn’t help a grin, the warmth of gratitude radiating through me. “You are too good to me, Link. Carrying my ice cream, helping me find lost books—and even before I knew you were here…!”

He turned a wistful gaze out to the field. “I am as good to you as you deserve,” he responded simply, and despite myself I felt my heart skip a beat.

-:-:-

“You know, Link,” I commented the following morning as I dug into breakfast at my tea table, “I admit to finding myself exceedingly curious about your abilities and limitations as a spirit. For instance, you can walk through walls and cannot be touched, yet you are able to wield your sword in my defense. How is this so?”

I had been curious for some time, actually; but it was not until our conversation at the top of the Sanctuary tower the night prior, silly as it is, that I realized I may get farther in my speculation if I simply deigned to ask.

He eyed me a moment before he stood from his seat opposite mine at the table (an endearing habit he had taken to over the past few weeks) and unsheathed his blade, holding it aloft with a thoughtful air.

“My sword… is not merely a sword,” he said quietly, reverently. “It too is a spirit—the spirit of the Master Sword.” He swung it around in the air before flipping it midair and gripping it by the blade, proffering it pommel-first. “Her name is Fi. She was created by the Goddess Hylia long before the founding of Hyrule, and so transcends life and death.”

I stared a moment, wide-eyed. It was quite a revelation to share so casually. He gestured for me to take it.

“Go on, give it a try.”

I eyed him curiously, pushing out my seat and moving toward him. I extended a cautious hand, unable to shake the expectation that my hand would pass right through it just as it did through him. To my shock my fingertips hit cold steel instead; and upon contact a voice erupted in my mind, excitable and indecipherable, but undeniable. I jerked my hand back and stared up at link in shock. He merely smiled and pulled the sword back, flipping it so the pommel landed neatly in his hand. He gazed at the blade a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, before sheathing it on his back and offering me a smile.

“She said hello.”

I blinked. “She… she did? You can speak with her?”

He shrugged, moving to retake his seat. I followed suit. “In a sense. I can hear her speak, though I don’t always understand what she says.” He lifted his head and eyed me fondly. “She was happy to see you again.”

I cocked my head in bemusement. “Again? Does… does she remember me from my trips to the sacred grove?”

He shrugged again. “She didn’t elaborate.”

I laughed, reaching for my tea. “So… is that how you can fight? The sword is not limited in the way you are?”

“It is the only part of me which can touch the physical world,” he confirmed.

I watched him as he stared down at his lap, wondering suddenly how I could have not considered the obvious.

“Do you… miss it?” I asked tentatively, “Being alive?”

He looked up and smiled wryly, shaking his head. “I do not remember being alive,” he admitted. “It is why I had no name to give when you first met me. But…” His gaze turned away, looking out the window to the warm light bleeding in from the midday sun. “I do sometimes find myself wishing that I—”

He snapped his mouth shut, a tension in his jaw that had not been there earlier. I felt my chest tighten at the yearning in his voice—the sharp stab of guilt at my foolish misstep. Of course he would miss being alive, even if he did not remember—if for no other reason, he was entirely isolated as he was, trapped in a world he could not touch. I turned away.

“I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely, feeling tears prick my eyes. “Please, forget I said anything.”

“It’s alright, Princess,” he said softly, angling his head to catch my eye. “Please don’t be upset on my behalf. I came to terms with what I am a long time ago.”

I met his gaze and the moment hung suspended, breathless.

“Zelda,” I whispered shyly. “Please, call me Zelda.”

Then he smiled—as bright as the sun, and I felt my heart flutter.

-:-:-:-

Despite his assurances I was plagued by a strange melancholy the rest of the afternoon—one I could not shake. By dinner, it had gripped me tightly, and I found a smile difficult to come by. I ate in silence, listening absently to the courtiers gossip about this and that. They were fretting, as they did this time of year, over silly little superstitions and old wives tales. With the Hallowtide approaching, the barrier between this world and the spirit world would soon be at its weakest; when strange, unexplainable phenomena more frequently occurred. Or, so went the legends. I had never believed in such nonsense—particularly as one who can hear the voices of the spirit realm and the whispers of the lingering dead. It was all quite explainable to me.

Thus, I was caught off-guard when, in the middle of dinner, Lord Biggelsby’s tea saucer began to shake.

It started as just the faintest of trembling, but soon began a low, steady rattle that could only just be heard over the rumble of conversation; and Lord Biggeslsby—the most superstitious of the lot, fell deathly still and deathly pale before it. His eyes glanced up to the nobleman at his left, wide and fearful.

“Lord Waxley, did you see that?!” he whispered, not daring to move. Waxley glanced his way with a dismissive air and bored expression.

“See what now, Biggeslsby?”

“My saucer—my saucer was _moving_.”

Waxley glanced over his place setting with a raised brow. “I see nothing amiss, Biggelsby. Might I suggest not overindulging in the aperitif next time?”

Waxley returned to his conversation with Lady Ralid, and Biggeslby went back to staring at his saucer with a determined expression, seemingly undeterred by Waxley’s dismissiveness. I cocked my head curiously, meal momentarily forgotten.

“Watch,” whispered a familiar voice in my ear, and I felt a shiver race down my spine.

Dutifully I kept my attention fixed, and a moment later I saw the cup jiggle again, more violently this time, sloshing tea onto the saucer. Biggelsby’s eyes went wide, and he tugged furiously on Waxley’s tunic.

“Waxley— _Waxley_! It happened _again_ , I am _telling you_ —”

Waxley huffed and turned his attention back only to find, once again, an unmoving saucer. He rolled his eyes. “Really now Biggeslsby—do you mind bothering someone else with your nonsense?”

It was by this point I felt the laughter building up in my throat; but I knew I could not laugh in the middle of dinner without explaining myself, and explaining my amusement was at a courtier’s expense would hardly be appropriate of the Princess. I bit down on my cheek, struggling to keep the laughter behind my teeth. But Link, it seemed, was intent on making my valiant efforts as much of a strain as possible.

Biggeslby eyed the saucer warily but with staunch determination, extending cautious fingers towards it. He gripped the teacup with a trembling hand, one finger carefully inserted into the handle and the rest wrapped about the cup with the utmost care. He was bringing it slowly closer to his face for examination when, all of a sudden, the teacup shattered in his hand. Tea spilled down his fingers—splashed onto his face and onto the table, and Biggelsby turned positively white.

“Good heavens Biggelsby, do take more care!” Father chastised beside me. Biggelsyby looked as if he were about to faint in his seat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water and eyes just as wide. My sides ached with the effort to keep my laughter in and I knew I would not last much longer. I turned to my mother and cleared my throat carefully before speaking.

“Mother, may I be excused early? I—hah, I… have some things I should like to—to take care of before dark.”

She eyed me oddly a moment but did not inquire. “Of course, Zelda dear. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Mother, Father.”

I managed to hold it in, only just, on the long walk back to my room. It was only once I made it inside, my guards locked behind my door, that I dissolved into giggles, gasping and clutching my side. Link shimmered into existence before me, a grin wide on his face as I leaned against the wall and laughed.


	16. Link VII

I watched, transfixed, as she slid the silver spoon against her tongue with relish, smiling wistfully out at the sprawling landscape as she swallowed her bite. The amber light of the setting sun set her golden hair aflame, billowing gently behind her like tongues of fire. Her eyes shone with an unearthly brilliance, like cut emerald—their depths vast and multifaceted. She looked every bit worthy of the Goddess’ blood which ran in her veins.

“Thank you for your guidance with Father’s birthday present,” she said as she placed the spoon back in her bowl. I turned my gaze back out to the rolling fields of Central Hyrule before she caught me staring. “I’m not sure I would have known what to tell the artist otherwise. As I’m sure you saw, it was a tremendous success.”

“It was my pleasure,” I replied simply, my smile lingering as I side-eyed her.

She hummed, methodically scraping her spoon along the sides of the bowl before slipping the last of her ice cream between her lips and uttering a quiet, satisfied sigh. I tried not to shudder at the sound.

“I suppose I should thank you for carrying my ice cream as well. I wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy it with such a view were it not for you.”

I quickly glanced to her, offering a nod. She continued to gaze out across the golden fields, absently playing with her spoon before she turned to me. Her smile was bright and warm, like a second sun shining upon my ethereal form, warming me through.

“By the way, I couldn’t help but wonder: have you always been able to possess objects? Is it something you’ve done before?”

Her gaze was inquiring—bright and earnest and curious. I turned away. She was too distracting.

“I… can only assume so, though I didn’t realize it until about a year after I entered your service. Do you recall when you spent several days searching for your translated copy of the Myth of the Eighth Gerudo Heroine?”

“Oh, yes! I was so frustrated—I had looked everywhere, only for it to turn up right on top of my—”

I observed her out of the corner of my eye, watching realization slowly dawn with a strange sort of glee. As her eyes widened she turned to me again, free hand at her hip.

“ _You_ put it there!”

I offered her a nod, unable to help my smile.

“You are too good to me, Link. Carrying my ice cream, helping me find lost books—and even before I knew you were here…!”

I felt a flutter overtake my chest and looked way, out over the landscape, though I didn’t really see it. Instead, images of her flashed through my mind’s eye—glimpses of four years service. Smiles and laughter, frowns and frustration. Despite everything she always strove for joy, never ceasing her efforts to ensure her people’s safety. Before I could think better of it the words left my lips, more honest than I would have liked.

“I am as good to you as you deserve.”

A blush quickly rose to dust her fair cheeks and I drew, perhaps, too much pleasure from it.

-:-:-:-:-

Though she had awoken with vigor the following morning, she was quiet after I introduced her to Fi during her breakfast. Too quiet. She was brooding, melancholically so, and it did not improve as the day progressed.

I sighed as I walked silently—invisibly—beside her, on her way down to the dining hall for dinner after a long and wearisome day. I suppose, to some extent, I was brooding too. Seeing her so bothered was upsetting to me, particularly given by all accounts I was the cause. But it was a bit more than that. It was the _why_ , as well.

_‘Do you… miss it? Being alive?’_

It was a question I had certainly asked myself before. For years the answer had been no. I couldn’t remember my life, and how could one miss that which they didn’t know? But then she had entered into the equation—not as an unsuspecting charge to watch from a distance, but as an active component of my daily life… and now I was no longer certain. For while I did not know my previous life, I knew this one; and in this one… _well_.

In this one, the reasons I might wish to be alive—to be seen and known, to be able to _touch_ —were steadily growing.

_‘Zelda. Please, call me Zelda.’_

My heart still fluttered at the memory; that she deemed our relationship close enough for a first-name basis, that she wanted to share herself with me—not merely the life of the Princess but the life of the _person_ … I was touched—honored; and… perhaps something more.

It was this feeling which drove me to such a bother over her melancholy. I was determined to set her mood to rights, and an idea as to how came, suddenly, during dinner—as I listened absently to the trite conversation of the courtiers from beside her chair.

“Do be sure to wear your agate pendant. It is to be a full moon on the Hallowtide…”

“Madame Le Fay recommended staying inside all together… such an overlap of omens is sure to bring about naught but trouble…”

I eyed the speaker with a thoughtful gaze. He was a pompous waif of a man beset by wrinkles and made pale by the clownish facial powder so beloved by the dandy. Lord Biggelsby I believe was his name, one of courtiers Zelda had a particular dislike for. His comment, innocent though it was, had planted the seed of a wicked idea in my mind—one that was rapidly growing. I glanced to Zelda who listlessly poked at her dinner, then back to Biggelsby who poured himself a cup of tea with pinkies out.

I grinned, decided.

Stepping carefully around the table I drew close to Biggelsby’s chair, waiting for when Zelda’s attention was sufficiently turned from her meal. When her gaze rose from her plate, absent and listless behind her mask of polite detachment, I dissolved into pure essence and floated up and over Biggelsby’s head, stuffing myself into the confines of his teacup and saucer.

It was a tad cramped and grated like fine silt, but the vessel would serve my purpose. As Biggelsby reached for a crumpet I rattled my temporary body, gently enough that anyone further along the table might think it the result of a bump to the tabletop, but noisily enough to catch Biggeslsby’s—and Zelda’s—attention.

Biggelsby looked as though he’d seen a ghost as he stared at me—at his cup rattling of its own accord; and in a way I suppose he had. Once he was sufficiently distracted by my spectacle I departed the teacup, sailing across the table to Zelda who eyed Biggelsby—and the cup—with curiosity. From beside her ear I whispered: “ _Watch_.”

I sailed back across the table and stuffed myself once more into the porcelain, beginning my rattling with increased vigor. It didn’t take long to work Biggelsby into a state, nor Zelda into a smile—but I wanted more than that. As Biggelsby picked me up I waited until just the right moment, when the suspicion in his eyes had begun to fade, before I exerted force upon the ceramic and shattered it, causing Biggelsby to yelp in shock. With my vessel destroyed my essence spilled out with the tea, and I floated up above the table to observe, watching with glee as the King chastised the shaking courtier and Zelda struggled to excuse herself without erupting into a fit of giggles.

I was impressed that she made it back to her chambers without letting her mask slip; but once the door shut behind her she fell against the wall and dissolved into laughter, clutching her sides as tears streamed from her eyes. I shimmered into existence beside her, a grin wide on my face as I felt the weight of the day slide easily from my shoulders, her unrestrained laughter filling me with an unparalleled joy.

Later that night she lounged upon the settee before the fire in her nightgown and dressing robe, as she often did before bed, her mood once more bright and cheerful. I ‘sat’ across from her in the opposite chair, studying the flames. It was a routine we had fallen into some time ago, and though I could not pick up a book as she did, I used the time to reflect on the day.

Tonight, my thoughts circled around her.

I allowed myself a brief, stolen glance. The light from the fire lit up her face in an amber glow, not unlike the sun had the night prior atop the Sanctuary’s bell tower. She looked radiant bathed in its dim golden light, her features soft—at peace. How I wished to reach a hand across the low table and feel the warmth of the fire on her skin, to pull her close against me as she contentedly flipped the pages of her book. I turned away instead, withholding a sigh.

I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Regardless of how ridiculous it was, how impossible, it had become as plain to me as the blue of the sky: I loved her— _yearned_ for her; foolishly, desperately.

And I could never, ever, have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right suckers, I'm back! I apologize for missing a few days. I haven't been feeling great lately, nothing major just some serious fatigue (fingers crossed it's just exhaustion and disregulation and not, you know, COVID). But I'm starting to feel a bit better so I'm hoping to catch up a bit on this story. Random side note: for whatever reason I was 100% envisioning Lindsay Graham as Lord Biggeslby as I was writing this. In case anyone was curious.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed today's chapter!


	17. Zelda VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for descriptions of injury and violence.

With Link’s company my time at the castle felt less like a forced quarantine and more like the joyful, unburdened days of my childhood. I found myself smiling more than I had in years, and the long days which had previously dragged dully by passed me in a flash.

Whenever I tinkered with guardian parts or dissected insects and plants—things that left courtiers and my father’s advisers whispering about my strangeness, he by contrast was unperturbed, even genuinely interested in my work. He lent a ready ear as I puzzled through a problem out loud, and often asked questions about my hypotheses during my breaks.

On sunny afternoons when the weather was fair, I would go for strolls around the castle grounds and we would carry on hushed conversation, discussing the seeding of the winter garden or the coming of the annual harvest festival. I am sure my guards thought me mad, speaking to no one; at least, no one they could see.

He also anticipated me with uncanny understanding, never failing to lift my spirits just as they started to turn down. When I could not break open the chassis of a Guardian navigational core and left for dinner frustrated, he murmured jokes and gossip at the courtiers expense into my ear at the table, beckoning forth my smile. When I fretted over court politics one blustery afternoon, he possessed a guardian arm atop my desk and sent it crawling across the floor in a ridiculous flail—and soon my fears were altogether forgotten, given way to laughter.

I felt at peace with him. I could be myself—my _whole_ self, and he would not judge or criticize, nor remind me of my station and the manner in which I was acting outside of it. His smile was infection, and his laughter even more so. Each morning I found I looked more forward to breakfast with him than the work which awaited at my desk—no matter how interested in it I had been the day before.

For a time, I had forgotten the looming specter of the Calamity, and the great battle with Destiny that awaited us both. At least until the next council meeting I was called to attend.

The news was grim. During my quarantine, the situation throughout Hyrule had grown significantly bleaker. A horde of monsters—stahlkoblins and stahlnoxes, invaded the outlying village of Deya in the middle of the night, leaving but two survivors: a young boy an an infant child. His tale was heart-wrenching, and I found my throat nearly too tight to breath as his report was relayed by Lieutenant Ji word-for-word to a silent council.

“By the time we arrived bodies lay strewn across the village, most torn apart. There were at least fifty monsters roaming the valley, setting the buildings alight with torches. We couldn’t kill them—their bones reassembled of their own accord once struck. According to testimony from the boy, he…” Lieutenant Ji cleared his throat, eyes misty despite his unyielding stance. “He only escaped because his mother and father sacrificed themselves to create a diversion, drawing the monsters away from the road. He hobbled his way to the nearest outpost on a broken leg, while shielding the infant from stray arrows.”

“And where are these children now?” Mother inquired tightly.

“In the care of Zora Healers in the Domain, your Majesty. They expect both will make a full recovery.”

I felt a wave of gratitude and relief, but it did little to quell the nausea rising in my throat. When the council dismissed, Father held me back, an all-too-familiar agitation in his shoulders as he implored of me.

“Is the Champion aware of the enormity of his task? Is he prepared?”

The unspoken implication was not lost on me. I had shared with mother and father my interrogation of Link some months back, as well as his request that his existence be kept secret, known only to the royal family and highest level advisers; but he had not revealed himself to them. I did not force him into a more active role—I trusted he had his reasons for his self-imposed solitude, and they seemed to accept that he was to remain little more than a specter even to them. But the signs of the Calamity’s return were growing—frightfully so; and with this latest attack the degree of Father’s discomfort over his inability to see or interact (or command) the Champion had never been clearer.

“Yes,” I reassured as calmly as I could. It was rare Father would show such open vulnerability, and I felt the need to be his pillar of strength. “He understands the stakes—and he is ready to fight.”

Father let out a breath and straightened, his kingly disposition falling once more into place. “Good… good…”

As I departed the council meeting, I felt its weight hang heavily upon me. I took a detour on the way back to my room, my two guards following dutifully, oppressively behind me. I hoped a stroll through the gardens might calm me. But the red roses only made me think of the bloodied bodies of the villagers, and the lilies turned my mind to loss. It was as I stood beneath the roof of the southern pavilion gazing out across hyrule, my hands fisted at my side, that I felt the tears I had withheld during the meeting trickle down my cheeks.

I shut my eyes, taking a shuddering breath. So much was at stake… so much death and destruction had already been wrought. How could I hope to defeat such a monster when its lesser minions left me feeling such hopeless desperation?

“Have faith, Zelda…” a familiar voice whispered soothingly in my ear, eliciting a shiver. “You are stronger than you think—and you are not alone.”

I felt my breath catch and turned—seeking his smile, a comforting embrace—but nothing was there. I knew this, knew I would not see him, that he could offer me no greater comfort than words; and I realized, all of a sudden, how fervently I wished otherwise.

I felt out his presence, gazing at where I estimated him to be. I stared, out across the grounds, out at nothing.

A strange new feeling welled up within me. Until then, I thought I had been content with his mere companionship—his conversation and company. I’d thought it was enough. But right then, I yearned for something more—something I knew I could never have: his touch. What I wouldn’t give to lose myself in his embrace, in the reassuring tangibility of his presence; to feel his breath ghost across my skin as he whispered such words of faith in my ear.

Another tear fell from my eye, this time for a very different reason.

“I hope so,” I whispered to the air.

That night, I dreamed. I dreamed of my room, the crackling fire in the hearth warming the chill evenings, and of Link sitting across from me as he so often did while I read or knitted away my worries. But in my dream, unlike in reality, he was real.

He watched me, his familiar smile stirring something warm in my belly. He was speaking, though I did not understand what he said—yet still it somehow eased me, cast aside my worries and fears. I set down my knitting and leaned forward across the low table, joy and contentment rising in my breast, and he did likewise, extending a hand. I felt him brush gently against my cheek, his fingers calloused just as I imagined them to be. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch, my heart beating fast and an unspoken tension thickening the air between us. When I opened, I found him gazing back—brilliant blue irises twinkling in the low light, gaze piercing and heavy with something unspoken; something shared. I found myself leaning forward, and him toward me, his face so close to mine and his warm breath ghosting over my cheeks…

I awoke with a start, gripping tight to my sheets as I sat up in bed, heart hammering in my chest. I brought a hand to my face, brushing aside my hair. I was shaking. The dream had felt so real, so… I let out a trembling breath, willing my heart to slow.

It was not until that moment I understood depth of my own feelings. I had not recognized the yearning buried deep within my soul. It had overtaken me so silently, so stealthily, I did not notice it at all until it overtook me wholly. But I knew, now, the disposition of my heart—it’s foolish, aching desires; and knew, after this, I could never look at him the same again.


	18. Link VIII

I only fell more in love with her as the weeks passed. I tried to ignore it, push it aside, focus on other things; but she always drew me back to her, like a moth to a flame.

Work was often the preoccupying activity of her days and I grew to enjoy watching her. There was something endearing about the furrow of her brow, the way she stuck her tongue between her teeth when she was concentrating, the tilt of her head when she was curious or intrigued.

Her intellect too, was a sight to behold. There were times when she would speak aloud, puzzling through a problem, and I would catch a glimpse of the inner workings of her mind. The speed at which she could jump from one connected idea to the next, from hypothesis to experimentation to conclusion, was awe-inspiring. Her curiosity, too, knew no bounds. She was always looking for the the unconsidered perspective, the answers yet to be found.

When she would walk through the grounds as she did occasionally on warm afternoons, she did not overly concern herself with hiding our conversations and did little more than to keep her voice low. Though her guards kept their distance to give her a modicum of privacy, still they noticed and eyed her strangely for speaking to what appeared to be open air; but she showed not a care, interested only in my thoughts and opinions.

It made me feel… valued. _Wanted_.

There were times I could almost pretend I was a friend—living, breathing—escorting her through the crisp autumn air for the afternoon, instead of an undead specter floating invisibly beside her. But in truth, I was just that—and the day she was called to council I was cruelly reminded of my… _limitations_.

The news was expected but no less disturbing. I had heard whispers between soldiers of growing unrest throughout the Kingdom on those nights I patrolled the castle perimeter. Monster attacks were rising, the soldiers ranks were shrinking, and though new recruits were being trained with a haste bordering on irresponsibility, the problem only continued its slow but steady march toward insolvency.

It was easy to forget such concerns existed in the relative peace of the castle—even for me.

I could tell without needing to see her face that she was stricken by the news: the way her arms and shoulders tensed, the clench of her hands on the armrests of her chair, the stiffness of her carriage, the shallow breaths she took to keep the sobs in her throat.

When the session ended the King held her back, pacing before her in agitation as he inquired: “Is the Champion aware of the enormity of his task? Is he prepared?”

I felt my stomach turn. I had declined to meet with the King and Queen some time ago, when Zelda inquired at the start of our arrangement. My personal preference for anonymity aside, my obligation was to her; I had been summoned from beyond death to serve _only her_. If the King and Queen wished to inquire of me they could do so by deferring to Zelda with the respect owed the Princess of Destiny.

At least, that had been my opinion at the start.

But as the King looked to her with such open fear and vulnerability, I realized perhaps I had been selfish—that this matter was bigger than such contrivances as deference and formality. I stepped forward, prepared to show myself—to answer his question directly; but she spoke first, her voice calm and confident—every bit the queen she would one day become.

“Yes. He understands the stakes—and he is ready to fight.”

I released my hold on my essence and abandoned my plans to show myself, gazing to her with something akin to awe. Though I was confident in my abilities and in my devotion to my duty, it was something else entirely to hear her confidence in me spoken with such resolution—and in the face of her own fears no less; for I knew, despite this, that the council meeting still weighed on her. I knew of the worries she voiced in the quiet of her room at night when she felt free enough to speak her mind openly.

And yet still she had faith. In _me_.

When she departed the chamber, she took a turn in the hall, away from her bedroom and toward the garden. I watched her closely from between her two guards as she departed the castle’s dim interior for the sunlit outdoors. The strength she had shown before the King was quickly fading, and I could see the weariness seep into her stride, the quiver of her shoulders which spoke of her burgeoning hopelessness.

She moved to stand beneath the southern pavilion and her guards hung back, giving her privacy; but I continued with her, stopping just behind her left shoulder as she gazed out at Hyrule, unseeing. Her shoulders shook freely now, her hands fisted at her sides, and as I turned to observe her saw tears running down her cheeks, glistening in the light. Her lips were a tight line as she attempted to keep her sobs down.

In all the time I had watched over her—in all the time I had loved her, there had been only a handful of moments I truly yearned to be real—to touch her, protect her— _hold her_ ; moments where I would have given anything to be alive.

This was one of them, and perhaps the most fierce.

I wanted to wipe away her tears, hold her close and tangle my fingers in her hair as I pressed gentle kisses to her forehead. But I had only words to give, and nothing more; so I turned to them—infusing every ounce of reassurance, every scrap of the unwavering faith I had in her.

“Have faith, Zelda… You are stronger than you think—and you are not alone.”

I wished to say more—so much more, but before I could figure out how to convey my thoughts she turned sharply, her gaze searching me out, narrowing as she pinpointed my location. Her eyes were conflicted, confused, watery with tears and wide with lingering fear. She simply stared a moment, and though I knew not her thoughts I could see them bouncing against her skull like angry bees.

And then, her searching eyes rose to mine—I know not how she found my face—and a tear fell from her eye, followed by another.

“I hope so.”

I extended a tentative hand, hovering inches from her face but not touching—never touching. It was the closest I could get to an embrace, and I closed my eyes, just… _wishing_.

That night, after I finished my patrol of the castle perimeter, I ascended to the sanctuary’s bell tower instead of returning to Zelda’s balcony. I stared out across a moonlit Hyrule, black and silver beneath the half moon’s light, feeling emotions turn and tangle within me—writhing like a living creature desperate for release.

I had never viewed my existence on the mortal plane as anything other than a call to duty—one which transcended life and death, in service to a far greater purpose. But now, I began to wonder if perhaps my presence here was a punishment by the Goddess for some wrong I had committed in my past life.

I loved her. Heart and soul, Zelda was my world—my everything; and I could never touch her, never hold her, never kiss her—never confess the depths of my feelings as it would surely only bring heartache. She could never love me in return, and I valued her friendship too much to risk it on such slim odds. Besides which, the Calamity was far more deserving of her attention than I. But consigning myself to this did little to assuage the heartache which consumed my essence, nor rid me of the fervent desires bubbling within me like the magma of Death Mountain, threatening to erupt just the same.

Here, at the top of the bell tower—far out of reach of any unsuspecting servants or courtiers who may feel the haunting echo of my cries, I let my emotions free, howling at the moon in despair until the sky began to lighten and my duty called me back—to the unsuspecting Princess in whose hands my heart lay, vulnerable and beating, for her. Only for her.


	19. Zelda IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Ahead.

The weeks which followed my dream were the same in form, but their spirit was wholly changed.

Each morning I rose, dressed, and sat down at my desk. Then, Link would enter in off the balcony. I would work, and he would watch or ask questions or joke about the latest gossip at court. It was no different than the weeks before; but where not long ago I would engage him with a comfortable and easy familiarity, now I struggled to hide a blush when he complemented my ingenuity, or slow my racing heart whenever he drew too near. It felt unreasonably silly; he could not touch me, and neither could I touch him. I doubted his feelings were anything more than friendly. There was nothing that could come of these affections, and though I tried to banish them they stubbornly persisted.

In an effort to regain my composure and my focus I tried to distance myself from him. I spent more time outside of my room, where he would be forced to hide. This worked in halves. While it did serve to distance us, It did little to help my focus. Instead of being distracted by his presence or his conversation, I became hyper-aware of that familiar prickle on the back of my neck and the insistent feeling of being watched which told me he was ever nearby.

Despite Link’s kind warning, I spent more time with Miroku, the poor man. I did not wish to use or mislead him, but there were few within the castle who were so readily available to entertain my company. Despite his enthusiastic chatter, afternoons with him were often spent pulling my thoughts away from Link instead of listening to the bard’s words or music. My participation in council meetings also fell shamefully as I could not seem to absorb what was being spoken.

I had no solace in sleep, either. I was haunted by his specter in my dreams. Sometimes the dreams were silly or mundane. In one, we read together by my fire. He would laugh at a passage in his book and share it aloud, and our hands would brush as we both reached for the teapot. Other times they were not so silly: a longing gaze and a hand resting just a little too high on my knee in a secluded corner of the garden. Words of affection and desire were whispered in my ear, much in the way he would sometimes tell me a quiet joke in the halls of the castle.

Always I awoke breathless, my heart aching with a desperate yearning.

I knew I could not spend all my time wandering the castle to avoid him, and so I took to inviting ladies of the court to my chambers for tea. It was dull and wearisome and never interesting, but it kept Link hidden, and the distance between us large enough for me to breath—for a time.

But, as I should have anticipated, my sudden change in behavior was not lost on him. As I myself had encouraged him to do with other matters, he waited for an opportune moment to bring up his concerns.

“Zelda, may I have a word after Lady Jessup departs?”

His voice was quiet, spoken from just behind my shoulder. I shut my eyes briefly to repress a shudder and quell the flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, but I suppose that was what came of being so focused on running you pay no attention to where you are heading.

I offered a discreet nod before returning my attention to my guest, my mind now very far away from her trite tale of a lost brooch.

I dragged out the Lady’s departure, buying myself a half hour more of her company before she left my chambers, but I could not put off the inevitable. Once the door shut Link wasted no time materializing some feet before me, a furrow in his brow and a frown tugging at his lips. The butterflies erupted once more, making me feel faintly ill with nerves.

“I apologize for my forwardness, but I must ask if I have done something to offend you?”

I resisted the urge to fidget anxiously, forcing my hands to stillness.

“Of course not,” I answered with as much calm as I could, offering him a wan smile as I turned for my settee. To my surprise he reached out a hand to intercept my wrist as I passed—only for his fingers to pass through me, a cold like the chill mists of winter moving through my bones and clinging strangely beneath my skin. I instinctively retracted my hand, startled by the cold, and glanced up to him in confusion. The furrow in his brow had deepened—he seemed as confused as I. But after a moment he looked up at me, gently shaking his head.

“Zelda,” he began softly, more tentatively, taking a small step toward me. My heart beat faster. “I know you have been trying to avoid me; If I have done _anything_ to upset you, please tell me so that I may apologize and remedy my behavior. And if you simply wished for space… you need only ask. I hope you know that.”

His words were so sincere, and his gaze so pleading, I felt sick to my stomach over how I had treated him. My hands fisted at my sides and I looked away, taking a shuddering breath. I could not hide from Link—it had been foolish to try. There was no point denying my actions, nor playing dumb. He deserved some measure of truth.

I crossed to the settee and sat down delicately, hands resting in my lap as I let out an anxious breath.

“I’m sorry, Link.”

I spoke down to my lap, dimly aware of him taking a seat cautiously beside me. I tried not to become too distracted by his nearness.

“I… I _have_ been avoiding you. I just…”

I forced myself to look up at him—at the ethereal blue-green glow which always clung to his form; at the brightness of his eyes, focused so intently on me. I could scarcely figure out what to say to convey my feelings without admitting the truth nestled deep in my heart, but I made to try.

“I suppose—I just… You have done so much for me,” I murmured quietly, “And there is nothing I can do for you—no manner in which to show my gratitude. I cannot bake you cookies as I might for Impa, nor sew you a quilt to keep away the night chill as I might for Urbosa. I cannot hug you as I might my Mother—nor even touch you…”

Before I realized what I was doing my hand was in the air, reaching towards him in the gesture I so longed to make. My wrist turned that my palm might cup his cheek, fingertips dragging along his hairline; but just as before my hand ghosted right through his face, a chill running up my wrist. I pulled away and looked back down at my lap—embarrassed, aching at my own desperate want.

“I did not expect this would be so hard,” I admitted quietly.

Silence fell between us, and though I felt relief from sharing some small measure of my feelings, the quiet still felt heavy and weighed down by the truth I refused to name.

“Zelda…”

I looked up, only to see Link sitting closer, his eyes tender and expression as conflicted as I knew mine must be.

“I… I’m so sorry. I wish…” his words hung in the air, so many possible ways the sentence could end. He shook his head, eyes sad despite his smile. “I do not know what I can do to make this easier; but if it lessens your distress, know that I do not need cookies or a quilt to feel your gratitude… your smile is more than enough.”

My breath caught in my throat at his words, my heart beating far too fast in my chest. It was several moments before I could recall how to speak.

“Thank you, Link,” I managed to get out, offering him a weak smile. He offered one in return, gentle and soft and full of quiet devotion. The urge to touch him—to wrap my arms around him and pull him close, to press my lips to his and breath him in—had never felt so strong.

I knew, as I looked into those eyes, that this was a point of no return. There was no going back, no pretending my feelings were not what they were—no way to run. I loved him fiercely, desperately—heart and soul; and nothing could ever come of it.

That night, I dreamed of touch. His touch.

We sat upon the settee and he looked at me with a tender gaze and a gentle smile. Unlike hours earlier, in the refuge of my mind I could extend my hand to his cheek and touch flesh, press my palm against warm skin. He leaned into me, his eyes closed and breath shaky. I leaned in—slowly, overwhelmed by my own anticipation, heart pounding a frantic tattoo. I could feel his breath on my cheeks, on my lips, and as I gathered my courage to cross that final boundary he did it for me, pressing his lips to my own.

Whatever hesitancy held me back dissolved at his desperate, urgent kiss, and I found myself kissing back just as fervently. It made him grow bolder, bringing a hand behind my neck to pull me close, kiss me deeper. Though the press of his lips was slow—languid, his kiss simmered with unspoken emotion, bubbling over into something desperate and raw.

He pushed me down onto the settee and my heartbeat grew faster still. His lips left mine to travel along my jaw, down my neck where he laid feather-light kisses, his hand cradling my face and his thumb gently stroking my cheek. My breath escaped me in pants, the ability to form words utterly lost to me. My mind could think no farther than him—his gentle weight atop me, his warmth beneath my fingers, his _touch_ …

He laid kisses along the collar of my gown, and with each press—each drag of his lips, I felt warmth trickle through my veins, pooling hot and wet between my legs. His hand moved to my hip where he gently thumbed the hollow of my hip bone and I arched into him, grasping desperately at the back of his tunic—wanting, _needing_ …

_“Link—”_

I awoke with a start, panting and trembling and struggling to regain my bearings. The top of my four poster hung above me, sheets clutched between my fingers. I was in my chambers—in my bed. It was a dream… only a dream…

But it had been so vivid—had felt so hauntingly real. I stubbornly blinked back the moisture in my eyes and lay back against my mattress, shivering—though not from the cold. I could still feel arousal swirling within me, persistent and demanding. Moisture too clung to my thighs. I let out a shaking breath and closed my eyes. _How I wished_ it had been real…

I let myself drift, falling easily back into my dream, and without allowing myself to think on my actions I slid a hand down my waist, tugging up at my nightdress until it pooled around my hips. I ducked my hand beneath the thin cotton of my underwear, fingertips sliding smoothly along skin.

I was still sensitive, and but a few quick strokes found my legs shaking and my breathing labored. My other hand clutched tightly to the sheets—in my mind, to the back of Link’s shirt. I could still feel his phantom weight atop me, the gentle press of his lips, the heat of his body. I imagined his voice whispering my name, warm breath ghosting over my ear, and with a turn of my wrist I was seeing stars.

_“Link—!”_

I gasped, eyes flying wide—unseeing. My climax washed over me like a warm tide and I settled slowly back into my body, back into reality.

As realization of what I’d done struck me, my throat tightened and I felt tears build quickly on my lashes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I brought my free hand up to my eyes to wipe them away. Such a thing could never be—I knew this; knew _better_. I was a damned fool for letting myself dream…

I turned on my side and pulled the sheets up to my shoulders, refusing to think—refusing to feel. Instead, I recited devotionals fervently in my mind, one after another after another; all to block out the unwanted truth—the cruel reality, which nipped ever closer at my heels.


	20. Link IX

For a week things carried on as they had been. Zelda woke, went to her desk and began to work, then I entered off the balcony to join her for the day. Or, so it seemed. Though I struggled to pin it down, something about her seemed… different. She was distracted, much more easily startled, and her focus frequently faltered on her work. And then, though she made no comment or note of it, she suddenly became inexplicably, inordinately busy.

At first I assumed she’d merely grown tired of being cooped up in her chambers, taking on extra tasks around the castle simply to get out: personally grooming her stallion, long walks in the garden, assisting the head librarian with cataloging efforts. After all, she would surely mention if something were wrong, so I assumed she merely wanted a change of pace.

But it did not take long for me to realize something very much was wrong.

Whenever we were out and about in the castle I remained invisible, though we often conversed when the opportunity afforded. During her strolls in the garden we would chat at length about the goings on of the court, and I always enjoyed whispering a wry comment or joke in her ear during dinner, just to see her smile. Even if she could not respond to me, she would at least glance my way, though more often than not she would laugh or address me directly.

But now, I was lucky if I got so much as a wayward glance.

Despite our conversation on the matter months prior, she spent more time with Miroku too, though she seemed scarcely able to focus on his music or conversation when she did. I could not understand why she tortured herself and the poor bard so. She clearly did not have any interest in his company, and I knew she did not share his affections.

After a time, I could only conclude she was trying to avoid me.

The hurt I felt upon this realization struck me to the bone, twisting my essence into knot upon knot upon knot. I combed through weeks of memories, desperately searching for some ill I had committed against her; but I could discern at best only passing slights—certainly not actions that would merit such a cold shoulder. Moreover, I could not fathom why she felt she could not simply speak to me about whatever was bothering her. I _loved_ her—I would do _anything_ to see her happy; and while I knew she could not possibly return my feelings, surely she knew I valued our friendship more than petty grievances? That I would be recalcitrant in the face of fault?

Though my soul ached and my mind spun ever more troubled webs, I resolved to give her space. Perhaps, if she felt I was respectful of her desire for distance, she could feel safe to speak with me about her concerns.

But weeks dragged on, and nothing changed; at least, nothing during the daylight.

But at night, I heard her in her sleep. She tossed and turned, murmuring weakly and with such distress. At first I let he be, believing that if she truly needed me, she would call; but after several days with no change I began to wonder, given how she continued to avoid me during the day, whether she actually would. And so one night, as I sensed her beginning to toss and turn once again, I passed through the balcony door to check on her.

With the curtains of her four poster closed I could not see her from afar so I floated across the room to her, poking my head through the curtain; and there she was, tangled within her blankets, brow creased as she murmured incoherent words in her sleep.

I frowned, my heart aching. Was this my doing? Had whatever I’d done caused her such distress that it was plaguing her even in sleep? Or could this possibly be altogether unrelated? After the last council meeting, had the growing threat of the Calamity simply become too much?

I reached out a hand, my fingers hovering inches from her shoulder and wishing I could stir her, when suddenly she rolled over and passed through my hand. I started, her warmth a shock to my essence, and made to pull away; but as I did, I felt something strange. My essence clung to her, snagging like an airborne spiderweb on the branches of a tree. I stopped, my hand halfway through her shoulder, and stared in disbelief. I could feel an encouraging tug where our bodies met—an invitation to slip inside.

After a moment more I pulled away, reeling.

I had only experienced this a handful of times before, from self-styled witches and spiritual gurus who desired to speak with spirits and see beyond the mortal plane. In Zelda’s youth, as she traveled to the three sacred springs, we encountered several such types making the pilgrimage as well. It was then that I first experienced it, and learned of my abilities.

While malevolent spirits had the raw emotional power to overcome a weak-willed human and possess them by force, ordinary spirits required the willingness of their human vessel. It required trust; connection. It could not, generally speaking, be done by accident. Thus I was taken by surprise when, as I brushed past an elderly witch camping outside of the entrance to the Spring of Power that I did just that: possesses her by accident.

It was a strange thing, to feel a mortal body again, however briefly. The witch seemed startled too, after I raised her hand before her face in astonishment; enough so that she pushed me out mere moments later.

“You startled me,” she huffed after regaining her composure. I stared at her from the ground by her feet, and though I knew I was invisible to her eyes, her gaze somehow found my prone form. Her smile was kind despite my unannounced intrusion, and her tone was only mildly reproving. “It’s always polite to ask before you possess someone, don’t you know. Or…” her head cocked, and her gaze turned thoughtful. “Perhaps you don’t. Bear it in mind, next time.”

I knew immediately that was what had happened. I stared down at my hand, then at Zelda’s shoulder, my eyes wide with wonder. The witch at the spring had no doubt trained for decades to master receptivity to any passing spirit, so I knew Zelda could only have opened herself to me, specifically—though I doubt she realized it. She trusted me—so unequivocally that she had left herself open to possession even in sleep. It would have been an extraordinary feat even for someone as well-trained as the witch at the spring. Perhaps her Goddess-given powers were at play, amplifying her spiritual abilities. Either way trust was a key component, and the absolute trust she felt for me was clear.

My wonder quickly gave way to confusion. If she felt such a close connection to me—trusted me so wholly… why was she taking such pains to avoid me? What could possibly explain such a contradiction? After many minutes more spent staring at her curtain, I finally turned and made for my post at her balcony, thoughts awirl, feeling the echo of that gentle tug on my essence as I stared unseeing out over the castle grounds.

I spent the next several days puzzling over the past several weeks, hoping to come to some sort of answer; but I could make no sense of it, and no conclusions were forthcoming. As yet another morning came where she invited a lady of the court to her room for tea and I was forced to dissolve my visible form, I could bear her cold shoulder no longer. I would have to confront her. Only she could give me answers, and put my fretful heart at ease.

As she poured them both steaming cups of black tea, I whispered in her ear my desire to speak with her after the Lady’s departure. Then, I took a step back, and anxiously waited.

The moment the Lady departed and the door closed behind her I materialized before Zelda, and the words tumbled from my mouth of their own accord.

“I apologize for my forwardness, but I must ask if I have done something to offend you?”

“Of course not,” she replied airily, though her smile contradicted her words. She crossed for the settee before me, casual and unconcerned, and in my frustration I reached out a hand to stop her. I don’t know what I possibly could have been expecting. I could only assume it was an impulse from my previous life; but as before, in the night, I felt my essence cling to her. She still trusted me—felt a connection; she had to, or else this could not be.

So why would she avoid me? Why would she _lie_?

I shook off my confusion and took a calming breath. This all had to be some sort of misunderstanding, I could fathom no other explanation.

“Zelda,” I began carefully, taking a small step toward her. “I know you have been trying to avoid me; If I have done _anything_ to upset you, please tell me so that I may apologize and remedy my behavior. And if you simply wished for space… you need only ask. I hope you know that.”

She simply stared at me, myriad emotions flitting across her eyes. Her hands fisted at her sides, clenching tightly in distress before she looked away and took a shuddering breath. Without a word she moved to seat herself upon the settee, hands in her lap as she began to speak with weary exhaustion.

“I’m sorry, Link.”

I stared, blinking, having not expected such a straightforward response after so many weeks of duplicity. Hope rose tenuously within me, and I moved to hover next to her atop the settee, silent, waiting.

“I… I _have_ been avoiding you. I just…”

My chest tightened, and that sliver of hope grew.

“I suppose—I just… You have done so much for me, and there is nothing I can do for you—no manner in which to show my gratitude. I cannot bake you cookies as I might for Impa, nor sew you a quilt to keep away the night chill as I might for Urbosa. I cannot hug you as I might my mother—nor even touch you…”

Then, to my surprise, she brought a hand to my face, her palm grazing my cheek. I could feel my eyes widen, feel every point of contact as keenly as an electric shock; but also, I could feel that familiar pull, like a draft from an open door. It would pull me in, if only I let it.

How I wished I could.

She pulled her hand away, setting it back into her lap before staring down at it.

“I did not expect this would be so hard,” she admitted quietly.

Silence fell between us, heavy and thick; but my mind buzzed with a swarm of thoughts. It all made sense, now. Why that door within her had been open all this time, despite her avoidance. She wasn’t angry, and she did trust me; But she too had begun to feel the gulf which separated us—the limitations of my condition, and had begun to resent them.

My heart ached, and not for the last time I cursed my form—cursed the Goddess for this cosmic cruelty.

_“Zelda…”_

I scooted closer, and after a moment she looked up, expression as conflicted as I knew mine must be.

“I… I’m so sorry. I wish…” _I weren't like this._

_I wish I could hold you._

_Goddess how I wish I could kiss you…_

I shook my head, forcing a smile if only to ease her.

“I do not know what I can do to make this any easier; but if it eases your distress, know that I do not need cookies or a quilt to feel your gratitude… your smile is more than enough.”

Her eyes widened and she looked stricken by my words, and for a moment I feared I had said the wrong thing. But then, a smile slowly spread across her face; and though it was a small, wan smile, unlike the past few weeks this one was _real_.

“Thank you, Link,” she murmured quietly.

-:-:-:-

That evening, as I stood guard on her balcony, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. It had been nothing but a big misunderstanding after all, and I couldn’t feel happier to know our friendship remained intact, that she—

_“Link—”_

I tensed, spinning quickly on my heel. The voice was unmistakable: It was Zelda’s, and she sounded distressed. Was something wrong? It could merely be just another nightmare; or…

The image of a Yiga raising a sickle above her head flashed sickeningly through my mind. No—not now, not after I had just gotten her _back_ —!

I didn’t give my actions a second thought, flying quickly through the wall to her bedside. The room was undisturbed and the curtain drawn around her four poster as it always was; but I couldn’t know for sure, not until I checked. I ducked my head through the velvet, searching…

I let out a breath once I saw her, lying in bed clutching at her sheets, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. She seemed fine, though perhaps startled—no doubt awoken from a nightmare. I felt a rush of warmth at the thought that she had so readily turned to me for comfort.

I observed her a moment longer, just to make sure she was alright; but as I began to back out and pull myself through the curtains, she suddenly shut her eyes and kicked down her sheets before sliding a hand down her waist to hike up her nightdress.

I froze in shock.

I knew I should have left, then—knew what I was doing was breach of privacy, a breach of the unwavering trust she had in me… But for all the weeks she had spurned me, my longing for her had grown beyond my control; and as she unknowingly revealed her body to my eyes whatever logic and reason I had left crumbled at the sight.

She was so _beautiful_ … her skin smooth and muscles toned, a narrow waist widening into curving hips. Delicate white panties covered her, and she wasted little time before slipping a hand beneath.

Had I a heart to beat it would have been pounding like the hoof beats of a Lynel, chasing down its prey. I could scarcely think above the din in my head.

Despite how keen she had become at sensing my presence she seemed not to notice me, focused solely on the movements of her hand between her legs. Her breaths were ragged, her thighs trembling, a thin sheen of sweat coating her forehead. Her palm worked steadily against her, wrist tense and fingers moving fervently beneath the fabric. I was transfixed, the longing which had plagued me for so many months morphing into something far less humble, and much more salacious… a yearning of a _very_ different kind.

It didn’t take long before a flush overtook her, pink dotting her cheeks and chest, lithe form trembling on the cusp of release… And then her back arched and she gasped, eyes flying wide as she cried in ecstasy:

_“Link—!”_

Her hand slowly stilled. My mouth fell open. I felt as though I’d died all over again. She had called my name… _my name_ …

She had pleasured herself… _to the thought of me._

All at once I suddenly understood: why she had avoided me for so many weeks, why her body so open and inviting, beckoning my essence to overtake her…

I stumbled back, the vision of her flushed, trembling body seared into my mind despite the curtain which now hid her from view. Though I passed easily through every obstacle I tumbled into, still I fell to the ground, my legs weak and uncoordinated. I could scarcely think straight with such a hurricane in my head—and at its center in the eye of the storm, a single burning question:

Did she have feelings for me as I did for her? She _must_ —everything pointed to it…

Though I had no concrete answers, elation erupted within me nonetheless. This… could change everything. If she shared in my feelings I could finally tell her, we could finally be—

My train of thought screeched to an abrupt halt.

Wasn’t that just the crux of it, though? Regardless of whether she shared my feelings, regardless of whether she wanted me as much as I wanted her, we could never be together—not truly. One day she would need to carry on her line, forge alliances, lead her kingdom. That was the province of the living. She would need a flesh and blood partner by her side, and I was but a ghost. Anything between us could only ever be secret and fleeting.

And I knew, if I allowed myself a taste, I could never go back; never let her go.

I heard her shift on the other side of her curtain, and immediately the memory of her frantic hand and trembling form flashed unbidden before my eyes. A sudden thought rose in my mind—a wicked, insistent thought.

I may not be able to hold her or kiss her—she may not be able to touch me at all, but in a way… _I_ could touch _her_ ; I could feel her heartbeat and the blood thrumming through her veins, feel the pleasure coursing through her as she neared climax—a climax I gave her with her own hand. A single curtain separated us, and if I were to touch her, her body would no doubt beckon me in…

I could _touch_ her. I could…

I suddenly blinked, and realized I was standing once more before her curtain; so close to it—so close to _her_... I fell still, and lowered my hand; took a step back. Shame washed over me and I turned away, hands clenched tight at my sides.

I needed to get away. I couldn’t be around her—I wasn’t thinking straight; couldn’t trust myself.

Without giving myself opportunity to second guess I flew through the wall, floating up toward the sanctuary bell tower and far, far away from her. It was all too much, and my emotions too high strung. There was too much to puzzle through—and so much to _decide_. What I wanted and what was best were two very, very different things.

And I had only until sunrise—until I was due back at her chambers, to decide whether I was going to allow myself to break both our hearts.


End file.
